


Acquired Taste

by jaybug_jimmies



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dorks in Love, Eventual Plot, Eventual Smut, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Smut not main focus of story more like an added bonus, Well 99 percent canon compliant, yes I wrote Heath as a tsundere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 65,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13813497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaybug_jimmies/pseuds/jaybug_jimmies
Summary: When Heath defected from Bern's wyvern knights and joined Eliwood's group, he was very keen on keeping to himself, and for the most part, that was easy to do. However, a particular ex-assassin insisted on hounding him. It was extremely annoying. Heath hated it. And there was no way that was going to change. There was no way he was starting to like it. Nope. NOPE.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Almost completely canon-compliant, with two minor adjustments:  
> 1.) I've added characters into the story a little early; just know Legault joins Eliwood during ‘False Friends’ and Heath joins during 'Talons Alight.’  
> 2.) There are also some minor adjustments to Heath’s past, so that he’s a little less easygoing when he joins Eliwood’s crew  
>   
>   
> This story is dedicated to LuckyBrago. I very much doubt I would have even finished this fic without his endless support and without finding somebody who loves these two dorks as much as I do. :)  
> 

The man stood casually with his back and the flat of one foot propped against a wall. One of his arms was crossed over his chest, hand tucked into the crook of his other arm, and he was rolling and twirling a short stick absent-mindedly about in his other hand.

A long, purple cape fluttered gently in the evening breeze, and flowing lavender hair swept back with a bandana matched the cape's flutter. The man held a peaceful, contemplative expression, his heather eyes focused on nothing in particular. Such a serene face was marred with old, deep scars traced broadly from above his right brow to down across his face and cheek. Although it gave a fierce, intimidating look about him at first blush, something about the man also immediately suggested he was not a savage fighter by nature. Perhaps it was the sly smirk that decorated his face, or perhaps it was the ring of lockpicks hanging from his skewed leather belt, belaying his current profession.

Had someone come upon this man, they might have easily assumed he was lost in thought. His head was bowed and his overall demeanor gave him an air of lazy comfort. But he was not oblivious to the outside world. On the contrary, he was actually listening carefully to the hustle and chatter of the camp around him. The ragtag crew of soldiers, nobles, mercenaries, misfits and turncoats were a bunch he had somehow gotten caught up in. The entire company, under the leadership of some plucky young nobles with grand visions of combating corruption and evil, were camped out after a full day's march. Their chosen site for rest was a crumbling old church abandoned perhaps a millennia ago. It was one of the outer walls he was propped against now; listening to tents being pitched, draft animals shooed about, supplies being sorted for the evening and the general mayhem of so many people in a relatively small space.

Legault found it pleasant to just perch there and listen. Perhaps it was nothing more than indulging ingrained habits. In his old line of work, he used to stand like that for hours, patiently, watching, listening. It was nice to keep one's skills in check, even if he didn't plan on using them again.

Among the din and natter, one voice in particular caught his attention. It was distant and indistinct, yet it immediately leapt out at him. It was that wyvern rider who had joined their lot a week or so ago. Legault tilted his head and could just barely make out the man's figure within the interior of the church ruins. A lanky man, with wildly spiked green and white hair, still donning his old, cracked Bern armor-- he stood speaking with one of the Lycian nobles, Hector. Legault strained to catch what pieces he could of the conversation.

". . . could do that, it would be a great help. I don't trust these woods . . ."

". . . no trouble. She should be well rested by now, I can head out immediately."

"Excellent! Be sure to check the whole perimeter . . ."

After a few moments, they concluded their conversation, and the wyvern rider began heading in the direction of the impromptu stables area. It wasn't difficult to surmise he would be taking his beast out on patrol for the evening. Legault let his thoughts settle around the enigmatic man. What an odd fellow. It was clear from the very outset that the man carried a strong sense of pride and justice, but he was so aloof and guarded. There seemed to be much behind his pale eyes that he left unspoken. Legault had found himself drawn to the stranger almost immediately. Unfortunately, his friendly overtures had been met with prickly irritation and suspicion, and he'd been unable to progress beyond that point. A shame, really, as the handsome Bern turncoat was really quite admirable and fascinating.  If Legault was being entirely honest, he'd been on his mind far too frequently.

Why did he always have to fall for the difficult ones?

Gravel crunched under heavy reptilian feet, the creature being guided outside the church ruins to reach the open skies. Legault remained as still as he had the entire evening, and waited until they had just gone past him.

"Sneaking off for the night, Heath?"

The man visibly startled and spun around. When his eyes fell upon Legault, he sighed wearily.

"What are you doing skulking about?"

"If you can go out to enjoy the night air, why can't I?"

Heath scowled and turned his focus on adjusting his wyvern's saddle.

"I'm not out for a jaunt. I'm running nightwatch for Hector."

"That's valiant of you. Mind if I tag along?"

Heath gave him a puzzled look.

"Why?"

"This constant questioning of my motives does get tiresome. I thought you might like the backup. Besides, it'd be nice to stretch my legs."

Heath climbed onto his wyvern's saddle.

"It would take quite the jog to keep up with me. But do as you please."

He glanced down at Legault and added as an afterthought;

"I'm setting up watch at the mouth of the valley after running the perimeter. Perhaps you'll manage to make it out there, if you don't run afoul of the boars or wildcats."

With that, he signaled his wyvern and took to the sky. Legault watched him veer off and vanish over the trees.

"Well," he muttered to himself,

"I suppose I do love a challenge."

After giving the camp a brief backwards glance, he began hiking.

Although the distance to travel was not unreasonable, the density of the woods and the ever-darkening sky didn't exactly make things easy. Legault hadn't brought a torch, of course, but he possessed unusually keen eyesight-- one of the advantages of his nature, being a predator of the night. Even he had his limits, though. Fortunately, he was able to keep his bearings and was guided during the final leg of his journey by a tiny point of light.

Heath was seated upon an old log, poking at a sloppily-built campfire with his lance. He glanced up and raised his brows as a figure materialized from the trees.

"Hmm. I admit I expected you to have been eaten on the way over."

 "I imagine I taste far too foul for that sort of thing."

The wyvern rider grunted and turned back to poking the fire. Legault drew closer, glancing to the green wyvern curled behind Heath a few feet away. It could be an unpredictable beast, but he knew it was wary of the fire, and at the moment it seemed content enough. A few moments passed in silence.

"So is this how you spend your nightwatches? Sitting about and poking campfires?"

"More or less. Guarding isn't exactly an exciting duty. I still cannot fathom why you'd wish to join me."

Legault settled down upon a large stone near the fire.

"I'm curious about you, Heath. You're a very tight-lipped man. Why don't you tell me more about yourself?"

"I'd rather not."

"Well, you might as well. We're out here for the night with nothing better to do."

Heath scowled, but remained silent.

"How about start with what brought you here, mm? Why leave your old life behind? It must have been a compelling enough reason to mark yourself a fugitive from such a powerful country."

"My reasons needn't concern you."

"I see. What about those gentlemen you were working for before you met this little band? You left them in quite the hurry as well. A flighty fellow, aren't you?"

"Perhaps I'm just indecisive."

"Somehow I doubt it's as simple as that."

"I do not see why it's important. What matters is I am here now."

Legault smiled wryly.

"Goodness, Heath. Might you throw me a bone?  Does your wyvern have a name?"

The knight's eyes flickered to the slumbering animal. After a moment, he said,

"Hyperion."

"Ah! At last, a suitable topic. Well then-- is it difficult to keep it fed? It looks as though it would have a sizable appetite."

" _She_. She can be a glutton if I let her, but she doesn't need much. A few rabbits or a bushel of fruit."

"Fruit? I wouldn't have expected that."

Heath leaned back a little on his seat, looking hesitant, but did continue to speak.

"She prefers meat, of course, but there are times during travel we must make do. Sometimes fish, sometimes insects, even roots or fungi. They are hearty, adaptable creatures."

"I can see why Bern's soldiers use them."

The knight shook his head.

"That is not so important a thing to Bern's military. The wyverns are used for their strength and ferocious appearance. A beast that calls to mind the terror of the time of Dragons is advantageous. It . . . matters very little to Bern's armies if the wyverns are kept healthy for long. They are bred in masses and simply replaced."

"Oh. Ah . . . that seems a little cruel."

 Heath turned a log in the fire with his lance.

"It is."

Legault hummed,

"I guess it's lucky for her that she's got you, then."

Heath looked again to Hyperion.

"I am more in debt to her than she is to me. There is much I would have failed to survive without her. Especially when I. . ."

He trailed off, seeming to catch himself.

"When you went on the lam?"

He gave a reluctant nod.

"Honestly, I'm a little jealous. I wouldn't have minded the assistance of a wyvern when I left the Fang."

Heath seemed to prickle a little at that.

"I assure you my challenges far outweighed any minor advantage I had. Deserters of Bern's military are treated like foxes for the foxhunt."

"They sound like a cheery bunch," Legault commented dryly.

 "Not particularly. They . . . curse you, Legault!"

The thief straightened up a little from his slouched position.

"What? Why are we suddenly cursing my name?"

Heath glowered at him.

"I suppose you should be proud. Your attempt to lull information from me nearly worked, for half a second."

Legault felt his normally cool, sanguine disposition heat a little.

"Why _are_ you so hellbent on the notion I have only nefarious wishes in my heart?"

"You're _Black Fang_ , Legault."

" _Former_ Black Fang."

"Does that really matter?"

"I certainly feel it does."

"I've heard about the Black Fang, all right? It takes a particular kind of person to become involved with that lot."

"Mmm," Legault replied coolly,

"And perhaps you don't know as much as you believe you do. You're being awfully quick to hold a man's former associations against him, all things considered."

Legault said that final part with special emphasis. Heath glared a moment, but the fire faded from his eyes.

"Very well. Your point is made. Then tell me what you know of them."

Legault nodded.

"First, tell me what you believe of them. Although I could hazard a guess."

Heath considered a moment, then shrugged.

"As I know them, they are a team of assassins that unscrupulously accept any and all commands to kill. Although they masqueraded as a group that only targeted the corrupt in power, in truth they terrorized all in equal measure."

"Sounds about right."

"Then I'm correct?"

Legault shook his head.

"About the Black Fang as we know them today, yes, but that hasn't always been the case. The entire enterprise has been eaten away from the inside out. I doubt that you'll believe me, of course, but the truth is they used to believe in those ideals you mentioned. It was supposed to be about justice, against those who normally would see none."

Heath didn't exactly look as though he believed him, but in the very least, he was listening. Legault settled back down into a comfortable position and sighed.

"Things were very different back in the day. We were such a small group. Close-knit. It was almost like a family, of sorts. I'm not about to claim our profession was a glamorous one, but it was righteous, at least. That much, I know. The change . . . it . . . crept up gradually."

Legault gazed off at nothing in particular.

"It crept up on us all. Some of us realized sooner than others. Some never came to their senses. And those that did . . . well."

He smiled crookedly.

"Let's just say I think you understand the dangers of being a deserter or a traitor."

The small space fell silent, with only the crackle of the fire. It was a few minutes before Heath spoke.

"Do you ever long for your old life?"

The thief glanced to him, not expecting the question. Heath added,

"Before your group changed, I mean. Before they fell corrupt."

Legault tossed the small twig he'd been idly playing with into the fire.

"For the most part, the Black Fang is all I've known. It's not so much a longing as it is feeling aimless now."

Heath gave a small nod, gazing steadily into the fire. Once again, Legault saw so many unspoken words flickering behind the man's eyes. Eventually, the knight said,

"Perhaps you will yet find purpose."

Hyperion ruffled her wings and stretched, then curled back up again lazily. Legault sighed wistfully.

"Here's hoping, anyway."


	2. Chapter 2

An entire week passed before Legault managed to catch Heath again slipping out for nightwatch. He'd intended to tail him sooner, but the wyvern rider was surprisingly stealthy for a knight. Legault suspected he was actively avoiding him, of course, but the thief was nothing if not both patient and persistent.

It was the second or third time he'd managed to tail him. Hyperion lounging some feet away, the wyvern's owner was crouched by a small pile of logs, busy trying to construct something passable as a fire. Legault decided to have a bit of fun with things and intentionally made some noise as he approached, rustling and crashing about. Heath sprung to his feet, lance drawn, staring intently at the underbrush. He barked,

"Show yourself!"

"My, my," Legault drawled as he immerged,

"Has anyone ever told you that you're quite appealing when you're all afluster and fiery-eyed?"

Heath huffed in irritation.

"You again."

Legault shrugged.

"Could I change and be someone other than myself, I would."

Heath returned to building his fire, pushing a few logs haphazardly together.

"You could be you back at camp rather than here."

"Dear me, am I really so loathsome?"

Heath shot him a frustrated look.

"There simply isn't a reason for you to be here."

"Ah, but I told you before! I am your backup."

"I don't _need_   backup."

"I beg to differ. Anyone can stand to benefit from backup. Especially nightwatchmen out on their own. And especially nightwatchmen with a bounty on their head."

"I've done just fine on my own so far." Heath growled, as he struggled with the flint and steel. It smoked but the logs were not lighting.

"Yes, well . . ." Legault paused, watching him struggle, tempted to sass him about his fire-starting skills. He chose not to push his luck.

". . . regardless, you've been awfully lucky so far. Luck runs out for us all someday."

"It isn't luck," he spat, the poorly stacked logs tumbling over again in his aggressive efforts.

"It--"

Heath snapped at him,

"--look, if you're going to insist on hounding me, in the very least make yourself useful and find me some tinder."

Legault smirked and said cheerfully,

"Aye, commander!"

He spun about and headed off again into the underbrush. When he returned, he had a surprising number of branches, twigs and dry leaves. Heath eyed him warily as he set about restacking the entire campfire from scratch. First a small mound of dry leaves, then a series of twigs, then a series of larger twigs, all constructed in ever-larger teepee shapes, until he finally expanded to stacking the largest branches.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the battered flint and steel Heath had. The knight tossed them over. A couple flicks of his wrist and Legault had the little sparks starting up on a tiny fluff of tinder. He puffed gently at it until they gave way to little flames.

Heath had his arms crossed.

"I imagine you expect me to be impressed."

"Not really," Legault said, shifting the sticks, helping the campfire catch rapidly. It roared to life. Heath set his jaw firmly.

"I'm not incompetent at basic survival skills, thief. I was just delayed with all your nattering."

"You know, not every offer to help is an attack on your competence. I never claimed you incapable. Although," Legault said, pointing with a twig at the logs he hadn't added to the campfire,

"You do tend to collect wood that's too green. That's why your campfires are so smoky and don't burn as well as they could."

Before Heath could snap back the angry reply Legault could see forming, he added quickly,

"Just a little friendly advice! No need to bite my head off."

Heath stopped himself, staring a moment at the man sitting across the fire from where he stood. Legault gave his best disarming smile. Heath heaved a sigh.

"This is going to be a long night," he said resignedly.

"Well let's not get too excited," Legault commented sarcastically.

Heath took up the largest of the green logs he had collected and dragged it over to sit upon.

"Just refrain from further offers for advice. I'd prefer to pass the time peacefully."

Legault shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

He allowed a number of minutes to pass in silence, watching Heath gaze meditatively into the fire. It was clear that unless Legault broke the silence, his companion would gladly spend the entire night without another word.

"So what were your thoughts on our young leader's strategy yesterday?"

Heath seemed to break from a deep train of thought, blinking.

"Eliwood?"

"Mmhm."

 Heath pondered this.

"He is inexperienced, but seems to have good instincts. He gets the job done."

There was a long pause. Legault prodded,

"Is that all?"

The knight narrowed his eyes, looking hesitant, but continued.

"I sometimes wonder if he is too soft-hearted."

"How so?"

Heath measured his words, then explained,

"It could be seen yesterday, as you mention. He found a way to get our troops across the border, but his technique was a risky one. Had we been detected, the enemy would have easily sent messengers. Yet he insisted on avoiding conflict."

"I thought his idea was rather clever, actually."

"Clever, yes. But a direct assault would have guaranteed no chance of messengers."

"A direct assault on those numbers? There would have likely been casualties."

"Yes."

Legault raised his brows.

"That is my point," Heath said,

"He was too concerned with preventing the chance of casualties for his people. That worry cannot outweigh the larger purpose, though. In Bern . . . my unit would have volunteered to be on the front lines, had it been faced with a similar situation."

Legault gave a sideways smile,

"Well, there's not fearing death, and then there's inviting it in for tea and begging for it to stay the night."

Heath shook his head.

"Had we not volunteered, we would have been ordered. It cannot be said to be a death wish. We simply understood it was the way things must be done. The greater good must always be paramount." A ghost of pain flickered across his face. "At least, that is what I have always held."

"I admire your conviction, at least. I do think there's room for compassion for one's troops, though. It's a balancing act I don't envy anyone needing to perform. I certainly never could."

Heath gave a noncommittal 'mmm.'

"Honestly, in some strange way, Eliwood almost reminds me of how the Fang's leader used to be. The little lord's young, yes, but so many of his company seem to look up to him. He must be awfully fond of them too. It would feel a bit like sending family out to die."

"All the more reason to avoid such closeness to begin with."

" _Oh_ ," Legault said, leaning back and crossing his arms, looking at Heath anew,

"So you're one of those types? Iron heart closed off to the world? Would explain a few things."

"And what are you suggesting? That I leave myself open to be backstabbed by any and all who come across me? You're an assassin and a thief, Legault. I hardly think you're one to talk about the wisdom of trusting the world."

Legault chuckled.

"Perhaps not. But I like to think of myself as only partially jaded. The cautious optimist, if you will. There are a few good souls out there, you know."

"That may be so, but one must always be prepared to act alone. It is foolhardy to develop dependency on others."

"I'm starting to see why you're so vehement about resisting any sort of help," Legault murmured.

Heath gestured at the fire.

"Small things may seem petty, but that is how dependency seeps in. Someone builds me a fire one night, and it matters not. But then perhaps they do the next night and the next. I grow complacent. My own skills begin to atrophy. Same as on the battlefield. It may seem pleasant, having others to watch your back when you fight. But one day they will be gone, and then? What will you do when that day comes?"

Legault tossed a twig into the campfire.

"Adapt," he said coolly.

Heath frowned, but did not seem to have a retort. The thief continued,

"You forget. It's possible to learn from others and combine your strength without enfeebling."

"Idealism," Heath muttered, glancing away.

"Maybe," Legault said cheerily.

"It's certainly possible I'm wrong. I often am. But I happen to believe it, all the same."

The tiny space they were camped out in fell quiet. Heath spent a long time regarding the fire again, as was his habit. Legault assumed he would not speak again, but glanced up in surprise some time later.

"In the least, you are right about one thing, thief."

The knight's eyes had not left the fire.

"I have been using wood that is too green. This burns much better."

Legault was thrown off a moment. People usually didn't tell him he was right.

"Well, ah, uh-- glad to be of service."

He could not tell in the dim light, but Heath almost seemed to have the slightest hint of a half-smile.


	3. Chapter 3

"Leaving early tonight? Lucky thing I'm all packed and ready."

Heath looked up from securing his saddle, expression of dismay plain to see.

"Thief-- must you?"

"Oh, don't be a killjoy, Heath. It's a lovely evening, we've had a relaxing day of people not trying to murder us, and the opportunity to bathe has presented itself for the first time in weeks. This army doesn't smell like a ripe barnyard for a change. You can't tell me that doesn't cheer you."

"I was looking forward to a quiet night," the knight said, looping his lance into the saddle's holster.

Legault cocked a smile.

"You're already alone virtually every day. I've seen how you avoid contact with just about everyone. That much solitude can't be healthy, even for a loner."

Heath hopped onto his wyvern's saddle.

"I'll survive," he said.

"Tsk! Life isn't just about survival, my friend. Don't you ever want for fun, mmm? A fellow needs to let down his hair every now and again. Makes for all that stern and stodgy duty a bit easier to swallow, I'd think. By the way, where is your lookout point tonight? Not that I don't appreciate the practice in tracking you, but it would be nice to know ahead of time."

"Thief--"

"I've a name, you know," Legault smirked.

_"Legault."_

"Ooh! Much better."

"You aren't invited to nightwatch."

"Now, Heath. I thought we agreed I wasn't entirely useless."

"Nevertheless--"

"Would you like me to beg? Because I'd be all right with that," Legault said, grinning.

"What? N-no!"

"A pity. You really don't like fun, do you?"

_"Look,"_ Heath said,

"You may follow me under one condition."

"Yes?"

The wyvern rider looked at him wearily.

"You must not speak the rest of the evening."

Legault was thoughtful a moment, then nodded.

"I agree to your terms."

Heath was clearly skeptical.

"We shall see. I will be at the third bluff."

Hyperion's wings whipped up a harsh wind as she took off. Legault didn't waste any time idling and immediately started out for his destination. The third bluff was quite the distance on foot, but he was full of energy and determination.

It was over an hour later when he finally caught up with Heath, situated at the very edge of the bluff. The drop overlooked the river below, and the air was filled with the babbling of crickets and frogs. Heath sat upon a rock in front of a small fire, his wyvern curled up a few feet away. He sat up in surprise as Legault approached. The thief gave a silly wave, waggling his fingers.

"I'd thought you'd given up," Heath said, looking a bit smug. Legault raised his brows and smiled calmly at him, but moved past the campfire without a word. He approached a tree along the edge of the bluff, leaned against it, and propped one foot flat against the tree. He crossed his arms and tucked his head in, settled into a familiar position.

After a few moments, he lifted his lavender gaze to Heath. He smiled just a little.

Heath met the man's smile with a frown.

"At least it will be a peaceful evening," he said, turning back to poke the fire with his lance.

The night passed slowly. At first, Heath appeared to enjoy it, absorbed in staring at the fire and being alone with his thoughts. However, as time wore on, he seemed to grow a little restless. He spent some time feeding Hyperion, and gathering more wood for the fire. He rode out on the wyvern to do another sweep of the area and then returned. He took a seat again by the fire. Several hours had passed. His occasional wary glances at Legault began to occur more frequently.

All the while, Legault remained not only silent but motionless. He would occasionally roll a little twig about in one of his hands idly, but otherwise did nothing. He could tell Heath was bored, but he also could tell he was stubborn. There was an excellent chance that they would see dawn break long before Heath would break the silence, and Legault was fully prepared for that. He did not steadily stare at the wyvern rider; he simply stood, watched, and listened.

Despite that fact, Heath almost seemed annoyed with him. The glances he was shooting him were increasingly exasperated. It possibly did not help that Legault began to return the annoyed looks with a little smirk or some other subtle expression, which only seemed to goad him. The skies were drenched in stars and a deep band of milky way, late into the night, when Heath finally spoke.

"You are somehow more unnerving completely silent than when you speak, thief."

Legault tilted his head very slightly and smiled gently at him, but did not reply. There was but the cacophony of crickets and frogs.

Heath shook his head, dropping another log into the fire.

"I must admit, I did not expect you to follow my request so diligently. Nor that you'd be able to."

Legault felt the urge to reply, but held his tongue. Heath seemed to be openly studying him.

"It makes sense now that I consider it. In your profession, you'd need to be more than capable. It is easy for me to forget that when you ramble on."

The night breeze tugged at him, but he remained still. In truth, he was enjoying the way Heath's eyes still roamed him. The slight wariness or irritation usually present on Heath's face whenever looking Legault's way was gone-- replaced with curiosity.

"Villagers always spoke of the Fang assassins in a dramatic hush. Cloaked in robes of night, with blades of ice, they'd say, delivering the sweet embrace of death in a breath's moment. Was there any truth to that?"

Legault gazed at him a moment longer, but finally spoke up.

"Nothing nearly so poetic, I'm afraid."

He casually tossed away the little stick he'd been toying with.

"There were a few masters of their craft, mind you, that I'd be willing to credit for some of those stories. For the most part, though, the work involved rather ordinary trickery."

The fire popped and hissed.

"And you?"

Legault stretched languidly against the tree.

"I couldn't hold a candle to the masters. I lack both the talent and the nerve. It's a shallow and unimpressive bag of tricks for me-- a bit of poison here, a little sneaking there. You'd be surprised at how little can let you scrape by."

Heath seemed unconvinced.

"You said that you were with the Black Fang for many years. You must have done more than simply scrape by."

"Well," Legault paused, feeling self-conscious.

"For a while I did all right for myself, I suppose. Washed up these days. Besides," he said, settling back into his usual position leaning against the tree,

"Even if my old skills weren't mediocre and rusted, it's not as though I've anything to do with them now. The old Fang is gone. I certainly don't have the strength for combat. I'm not going to run off and join some roaming mercenary band or anything after this. There isn't a wealth of appealing options."

Heath peered into the fire for a while.

"Is that why you're here now?"

"Hmm? You mean, with Eliwood's jolly crew?"

Heath nodded. Legault answered,

"Yep. They were taking in strays, so here I am. Helps that traveling with this lot offers a certain amount of protection."

The wyvern rider fell quiet again for a few moments and said,

"It is much the same for myself."

Legault watched the man as a sea of thoughts swirled behind his pale eyes.

"After defecting from Bern . . . I could not think of where to go other than to flee. I wandered for many months. Ultimately I came upon a group of mercenaries."

He shook his head ruefully.

"I jumped at the opportunity. I was convinced it was finally something worthy of my loyalty. Their leader, he was a charismatic and convincing man. I did not see the warning signs. I was too eager to swallow his lies. And selfishly, I was tired of spending all my nights sleeping with one eye open and not knowing if I would eat the next day."

"No greed in needing to eat," Legault said quietly. Heath continued,

"By the time I'd realized my mistake, it was far too late. Those men had not even a scrap of honor. The mercenary code they flaunted was so much hot air. Whenever I disagreed, they threatened to turn me over to Bern's headhunters. I only escaped their grip with the Lycian nobles' assistance."

The man gave a humorless laugh.

"Had they not happened by I might easily still be trapped back there now."

"If it makes you feel any better, for my part, I'd probably have been dead by now."

The knight hummed in reply but said no more. His companion inquired,

“So what do you plan to do now?”

Heath held an unreadable stoic expression as he admitted,

“I do not know.”

Legault came over from his spot near the tree and sat by the fire.

“Still searching for someone worthy of your loyalty?”

Heath’s tone was grim as he replied.

“I begin to suspect it’s a fruitless endeavor.”

Legault took the small satchel from his belt and tugged it open.

“You have high standards. I respect that. It won’t make things easy for you, of course. But I have seen men of similar temperament accomplish some pretty impossible things. They tend to be quite stubborn, too.”

He pulled a squat little paper-wrapped object from his bag and continued,

“And if you never find a group you feel worthy of your loyalty, you may still find a cause that is. I don’t doubt you could draw your own followers, if you’re as passionate as you seem to be.”

Heath gazed upon him thoughtfully.

“I had not before considered that. I’ve always served another. I was raised and trained to die for my lord and for my country.”

Legault had located a stick and was sharpening the end of it.

“Well, at risk of coming off as a bit sassy, you seem to have failed at that anyway.”

Heath smiled a little.

“Touché.”

Legault unwrapped the little paper package and poked the stick into what looked to be a small pie. He held it over the fire.

“What _is_ that?”

Legault answered brightly,

“Bulgaran offal pie. I was very lucky to get ahold of some in the village we passed through a few days back. Absolute delicacy.”

“I would not call offal pie a delicacy,” Heath murmured skeptically.

“Oh, but you’re wrong. This is not your standard pie. Only the finest simmered sheep’s brains, with smoked eel, blackberry preserves, and an exquisite fermented cabbage sauce.”

“. . . that sounds absolutely disgusting.”

“Admittedly, it’s an acquired taste,” Legault answered, turning the pie carefully over the fire. Heath wrinkled his nose and watched him cook. He was quiet for a few minutes but then asked cautiously,

“. . . how does it taste?”

Legault replied with enthusiasm.

“Like a concoction of wonderful contradiction, the sweetest nectar of the gods. The preserves complement the meat to perfection, and the sauce blankets you with pungent spices. It’s quite hearty, too. You can try some if you’d like.”

“No thanks,” Heath said firmly.

“Come now. You’re clearly curious.”

“That’s all right, no.”

Legault pulled the pie from the fire and used a bit of the paper wrapping he had to break off a small piece without burning himself. He held it out to Heath and gave him an encouraging look.

“Just a tiny taste, hmm?”

Heath sighed, but accepted the little bit of pie from him. He stared at it with trepidation for a few moments, giving it a sniff. After some more hesitation and blowing on it to cool it off he finally popped it in his mouth.

He then spat it out immediately. Legault chuckled heartily at his reaction, his warm laughter spilling out into the cool night air.

“Well, more for me, I guess.”


	4. Chapter 4

Although Legault had come to the mess tent for supper, he now found himself without much of an appetite. It was a strange grey soup this evening, the same they'd had for the past several days. They had been marching through some rather desolate plains so rations were pretty tight. The tent was fairly crowded with many of Eliwood's company, but Legault found an empty seat in a corner to plunk down into. He mostly just sat and stared at his wooden cup of water, vaguely wondering whether he should eat the last offal pie he had stashed with him. How many more days was this march? He might want to save it for another day, when the tired old soup tasted even duller. He sipped the water and sighed, thinking he was not cut out for this whole thing. Luxuries he certainly didn't need, but the sheer distance they'd been covering lately was exhausting. He was more of a sprinter than a marcher-- he generally lacked the stamina for all this travel. To many of the others, the knights especially, such a grueling pace was simply matter of course.

Legault's thoughts drifted to the striking wyvern knight, as they often seemed to. Although all the dust and exhaustion and grey soup were somewhat trying to deal with, the addition of Heath was downright distressing. Legault usually found it rather easy to get a gauge on a person's character and state of mind. He had studied people ever since he was young. Heath was different, though-- confusing and practically unreadable. Just when it seemed like the man was warming up to Legault a little, he'd then become frosty and distant. Legault had been joining him on a number of nightwatches by now and he no longer protested the thief tagging along. Indeed, he seemed to expect it by now. But Legault honestly could not tell if Heath had grown to appreciate the company or merely tolerated it. After the last time, when he'd been especially gruff, Legault had decided to back off. It was possibly a lost cause he was chasing, after all. So the past few times when he saw Heath slipping out for nightwatch duty, he did not follow. Tonight had followed this pattern as well; the knight had been headed for the stables area as Legault passed.

It was just as well. Legault couldn't really afford to become too entangled with the people here. This lot was a very temporary group with a very uncertain future, and they'd all part company soon enough, in one way or another. Legault smiled faintly -- then again, life itself was just as fleeting. He'd always been one to try and live in the moment. It was sort of--

Legault startled as he felt a sturdy tap on his shoulder, yanked from the deep thoughts he'd been dwelling in. He swiveled in his seat and began to speak with mild irritation at the person that had interrupted, but the words halted in his mouth when he saw who it was.

Heath stood there, holding his lance near the bladed end, having tapped upon Legault's shoulder with the other end. The knight spoke curtly.

"I'm leaving in two minutes."

Legault blinked and said,

"Oh?"

"If you're coming, be quick about it."

Then the man turned and left. Legault sat there a moment, processing that. Then he scrambled to his feet. To hell with it. He knew he was being jerked around a little, but he also knew he couldn't help but come running if the handsome bastard requested him to.

He was out of the mess tent and by the edge of camp in two shakes of a wyvern's tail, where Heath was saddling up Hyperion.

"Headed along the river tonight?" Legault asked as he approached, trying to sound casual but feeling a little excited. Which was silly, but Heath had never actually shown any interest before in actively including him.

"Yes."

"About how many miles out?"

Heath shook his head.

"Just ride with me. It would be too difficult to describe the location."

 Legault swallowed and stood there dumbly, as Heath climbed onto the wyvern's saddle.

"Wh- what?"

Heath glanced back at him.

"You're too slow at walking anyway, and I don't need to be slowed down."

This was bizarre. He'd sure as hell never been offered a ride before.

"You're not plotting to kill me a thousand feet up or something, are you?"

Heath gave a short laugh and turned back to prepare for takeoff.

"Believe me, if I'd have killed you, I'd have done so by now. Just get on."

Legault looked up at the wyvern and had to push back against a sudden fluttery rush of nerves. He had no idea what he'd done to deserve this sudden generosity, but he decided to stop looking the gift horse in the mouth. He came forward and nimbly hopped up onto the saddle behind Heath. The sloped back of the saddle immediately slid him to the center, essentially pressing him into Heath's back. Legault felt his heart bounce into his throat and his face warm, and he clenched his teeth in irritation at himself. Now was not the time to act like a stupid boy with a crush.

"By the way, have you ever been on a wyvern before?"

Legault glanced up, thoughts foggy a moment, before processing the question.

"Er, no. Can't say that I have."

"Well, it's no gentle pegasus ride. You might want to hold on."

Heath flicked the reins as Legault darted his gaze about.

"Wait, how do I-- _yaagh!"_

The leathery beast leapt into the air and beat its wings, propelling them upwards with a lurch. Legault grabbed wildly onto Heath, eyes wide, as they glided just barely above the trees, Hyperion clipping some with her wings, before rapidly gaining altitude. Legault shouted again as the creature made a sharp turn, the wind whipping at them, ground turning to a dizzying blur. As they climbed higher into the sky, the campsite below grew distant and toylike. Legault wondered when they would stop ascending but they seemed to only continue to soar higher, driving into the darkening shades of navy blue and blush orange.

It was difficult to describe just how unstable it felt. Every flap of the wyvern's wings shuddered and shook through Legault's entire frame, and sent the wind yanking and whipping at them from a variety of directions. Every time he tried to look downwards, a wild sensation of vertigo seized him, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and cling for dear life. It absolutely mystified him how Heath could so casually and easily control the creature and scan the ground at once, let alone fight on wyvern-back. Most of their trip passed by in a panicky blur, until Legault could feel them slowing and dropping down.

The dusty plains swirled about as Hyperion touched down, skidding to a halt. Several moments passed. Then several more. Heath sighed, annoyed.

"Legault. Let go."

The thief unpeeled his anxious grip from Heath and said sheepishly,

"Ah, um, sorry."

He hopped down, a bit shakily, and the knight followed.

"That . . . that was a great deal more perilous than I'd envisioned."

Heath shook his head, smiling a little as he guided his wyvern along on foot.

"Tell me, how did they recruit you to become a fearsome assassin, slow-footed and afraid of heights?"

"Well, I told you," Legault answered mildly,

"It was more for my silver tongue and a bit of quick thinking than for any actual skill or stamina."

Heath chuckled dryly. They had approached the bank of a modest river.

"At least you are honest, I suppose."

While Heath tied his wyvern to a small tree, he added,

"Or perhaps not so honest."

Legault glanced at him curiously.

"Hm? How do you mean?"

Heath fixed him with a steady gaze.

"During yesterday's battle, when those reinforcements arrived and flanked us-- there was no time for the weaker rear units to retreat. I was ordered to assist them, but when I arrived I found I was not needed."

Heath stepped out from under the tree.

"You were among those rear units. I never did learn who had taken care of all those fallen cavalry. There were quite a number of them."

Legault glanced away from Heath's steady gaze and demurred,

"I don't recall their numbers being that impressive."

Heath drew closer, his voice low and smooth.

"Was it your doing, Hurricane?"

Legault's head snapped up at the name. Heath looked pleased with the reaction.

"So it's true, then. There is ridiculously scant information about you. When I asked about you around camp, it was hardly more I could find but vague references to that name. I did not know if even that much was accurate."

"Seems a man can never quite escape his reputation," Legault replied.

"And what earned you that reputation?"

"It's not nearly so grand and glorious as you seem to suspect."

"I honestly don't know what I suspect," Heath said bluntly, eyeing Legault,

"Although you may be intentionally misleading people about your past, to some unknown ends. To lull others into underestimating you, maybe?"

"I-- all right, look," Legault said, sitting upon a rock,

"Yes, I had some notoriety back then. I told you we were a small group. I'd been there pretty much since the beginning. That tends to get you a name whether it's earned or not. And yes, I've glossed over some details. But believe me when I say I don't think them much relevant now."

Legault shook his head,

"A couple of youthful stunts and suddenly people have the idea you're far more capable than you actually are. I had luck and callow boldness. Those have both run out long ago for me."

Heath crossed his arms, gaze firm.

"Have they? You never said what happened yesterday."

Legault balked a moment, then said begrudgingly,

"I do occasionally still have my good days."

Heath studied the man, his eyes seeming to scrutinize his soul.

"Perhaps it is not others you're deceiving, but rather yourself."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

Heath's tone softened by a very small measure.

"It is foolish to underestimate your own ability. That conviction becomes reality if held in the mind long enough. Modesty is as loathsome a habit as bragging."

"I'm not m--"

Heath's foot shot out and caught Legault in the chest, and his lance spun and sliced through the air like a snake striking. A bright clash of metal rang out in the night, the lance halted midair, pressed blade-to-blade against Legault's dagger. The thief had staggered at the first blow but regained his footing and drawn his blade in time, and was now standing, shoulders strained from absorbing the lance blow, eyes sharp and adrenaline coursing. Heath returned his sharp stare, and slowly smiled.

The knight withdrew his lance. Legault hissed,

"You're an ass."

"You're very good."

The man sheathed his dagger, murmuring,

"I knew there was a reason I liked you. All right, your point's made."

He rubbed his ribs briefly and added,

"Although you're lucky I wasn't a little slower tonight."

"I'm going to gather the firewood. Can you manage on your own for a while, Hurricane?"

Legault pinned him with a look. Heath's mouth was curved in a sardonic smile, eyes light. The thief answered dryly,

"I'll find a way."

By the time Heath returned with the wood, a thick fog was beginning to roll in. The wyvern rider complained bitterly at this change while Legault built the fire.

"I dunno. Fog always felt kind of cozy to me," Legault said in a relaxed tone, striking the flint and steel.

"Cozy? It's unnerving and dangerous. I always hated flying in the fog. I could never see past my own wyvern's nose whenever our unit entered the Gerssex Valley."

"You get used to it if you grow up in the valley. I assume you're from the highlands?"

Heath nodded. Legault commented,

"I expected as much. Most wyvern knights hail from there."

Heath settled down to sit by the growing fire.

"The families there have long been entwined with the military."

"Yours included?"

"Yes. For many generations."

"Mm. Good of you to carry on the family tradition."

"Of course. We were all expected to serve."

Legault leaned his back against a broad rock, tucking his hands behind his head.

"But was it your choice to?"

Heath frowned.

"Yes. I was honored to serve. I began my training as early as they would allow. I begged my father to allow me an earlier entrance, in fact."

The thief chuckled.

"Quite the eager one. Wish I could say I was that cooperative."

Heath furrowed his brow.

 "How do you mean?"

"I was a rebellious child," Legault drawled,

"Drove my parents mad. Never really took to the family trade."

"Which was what?"

Legault's eyes slipped shut as he leaned against the rock, recalling casually,

"Blacksmithing. Dreadful work. My father was continuously disappointed in my lack of interest and ability. I could hardly raise the smallest mallets, let alone craft anything. In a way, I was sorry I couldn't be more help. The poor man would slave like a dog from dawn to dusk in that vile hothouse."

"Dawn to dusk? Was he particularly prosperous?" Heath asked, curiosity piqued. Legault opened his eyes and smiled sadly.

"We lived in a small village in Sarinton. Our Duke Ansley was very fond of dropping by and making requests. At least, my father chose to think of them as requests. In truth, he was being used to supply a small army's worth of personal guards with armor, weaponry, and various other goods. There was no payment."

The wyvern knight shook his head in disgust. Legault continued,

"The demands became more unreasonable as time wore on. The most aggravating part was that my parents refused to admit they were being taken advantage of. They practically worshipped the Duke and would not hear me say a harsh word against him."

Legault fell quiet, watching the light of the fire bounce and reflect off the fog.

Heath asked cautiously,

"What became of your parents?"

Legault shrugged.

"Hard to say. I didn't get along with them well as a young lad-- there were a number of things we disagreed on. When I became defiant enough, well . . . to put it simply, I ran away from home and turned to a life of thievery."

Heath glanced him over.

"I had assumed that was only a recent change in profession."

"Nope. Started out that way. Didn't really know what to do with myself. And too disenchanted with society to apply myself to honest work."

Legault flipped a twig into the fire and added lightly,

"It was only later I stumbled across the Fang. Never looked back. Not that I could if I'd wanted to. That's my sordid little story in a nutshell."

Heath gazed into the fire and commented,

"I can't help but notice it skips over large portions."

Legault gave him a mischievous smile.

"I can't give away all my secrets in one night, Heath."

Heath cocked a brow at him and seemed to want to say more, but held his tongue.

"What _I_ don't understand," Legault murmured,

"is how such an obedient, eager young knight became the dashing, rebellious turncoat before me today."

Heath snorted, glancing away. He acquiesced,

"Turnabout's fair play, I guess."

Legault watched him expectantly. Heath fell quiet for some time, seeming to dwell deep, perhaps unsure of how to begin. Eventually, the man said,

"Being a wyvern knight used to mean something proud."

He prodded the small fire with his lance.

"The wyvern knights were feared and respected across all of Elibe for a reason. An intense love of their country burned in their hearts, and they were fiercely dedicated to their principles. They did not fear death when they knew they were giving themselves to that greater good. To take the knight's oath . . ."

A moment of pain flashed across his face.

". . . it is a day you don't forget. You promise the whole of your being to your lord, to your country and countrymen, to the cause of the knighthood. You give it gladly. The tirelessly disciplined and austere living, the brutal lifelong training, the most severe of responsibilities; you submit to them gladly. You belong to the strongest, the most courageous, the proudest of the land."

He withdrew the lance from the fire, peering down at it a moment. He looked up at Legault.

"It paints a handsome picture. But they are beautiful lies. Bern's wyvern knights are lazy, greedy, corrupt, cowardly. They ride the coattails of a reputation no longer deserved."

With a short toss of disgust, he embedded the lance into the sandy ground beside the fire.

"It took far too long for me to learn the truth."

Legault's eyes were upon the lance a moment before returning to Heath. The thief asked quietly,

"When did you realize it?"

Heath glowered at the fire. He answered in a flat tone.

"It was only when I saw my brethren slaughtering innocent peasants that I knew how low we had sunk. I did not believe my eyes. It still seems like a dream to think back to."

Pale blue eyes reflected the dance of flames.

"When my unit came upon this madness, we tried to stop it. We were branded traitors and had little choice but to flee for our lives. Once we crossed the border, we thought it wisest to scatter and go our own directions. I am the last survivor."

Heath's words hung in the air for a while, and then Legault noted,

"Well. We're quite the pair, aren't we? Delightful tales of joy and mirth between the two of us."

"Mmm."

"Still," Legault said,

"We're here now. Thank the gods for small favors. Still drawing breath."

Heath met his eyes across the fire.

"True."

Legault plucked a stick up from the ground.

"And coming across Eliwood's little crew, of course. I'm sure it's exhausting to have a pattern of allies turning on you. Must be nice to finally rest a little easier, at least for the moment."

Heath tensed up. Legault noticed.

"Or do you still sleep with one eye open?"

Heath answered in a grim tone.

"That may never change."

"Never?" Legault asked, sharpening the stick with his dagger, preparing it to cook with.

"That could end up being quite a while. You'll need to rest one day."

Annoyed, Heath snapped,

"I can do so when I die."

Legault laughed.

"My, my, such asceticism. You should try relaxing. Better on the nerves."

Heath cast a glare.

"Surely you realize that is impossible. I cannot let my guard down for a moment. If you are as hunted as I, you should feel the same."

Legault let little bits of wood fly as he whittled the stick down.

"Well, now, you can still relax without dropping your guard completely. Besides, we're not all out to get you. It's not as though Eliwood's company will suddenly decide to turn you over tomorrow."

Heath looked rather stony-faced and said quietly,

"I don't rule out the possibility."

 Legault raised his brows.

"Goodness, you're even more wary than I'd thought. You really believe they would turn on you like that?"

"As I said, I don't rule out the possibility," Heath replied in a low, heated tone,

"I don't have the luxury of trusting anyone at this time."

Legault pulled his little wrapped pie from his satchel.

"Luxury! It's not so much a luxury as it is a necessity. There must be someone you don't completely recoil from. If not the lords, what about those Caelin knights? I see you talk to them at times."

"Only when needed."

"That quiet Pegasus rider? What about her?"

"No."

"There's not a single soul in camp you trust at least a little?"

"There is _no one_ , thief. Cease this foolish prattle." Heath said, irritation reaching a peak.

"Well, what about me?" Legault said, spearing the pie with his stick and dipping it over the flames. Heath gave a short laugh.

"You? You I'd trust least of all."

Legault smiled at him a little.

"I know that's not true."

Heath narrowed his eyes.

"And what gives you that notion?"

"Well, for starters, we've been sitting here for over ten minutes now with your lance stuck in the ground beside me. You're unarmed."

The knight's eyes darted to the weapon still buried in the sandy soil. He snatched it up with a growl. He said tersely,

"A lapse in judgment."

"Asking about me all around camp, all this curiosity about my past. Here I was thinking you'd finally started to like me," Legault said teasingly.

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Then why am I out here? You did tell me to come along."

Heath practically snarled at him,

"Because as tiresome and addlebrained as you are, you occasionally stumble across a valid point."

Legault blinked at his fiery gaze, briefly distracted at how ridiculously appealing Heath was when riled up. Brain skipping to catch up with what the man said, he repeated,

"Ah, a valid point? Which one?"

Heath shot a look into the foggy darkness. Some of the anger drained from his voice.

"Solitude in its extreme can act poorly on the mind. These nights . . . can be too quiet. I welcome a distraction from dwelling on my own dark notions."

"Oh--"

 "--even if it is an aggravating distraction. It is still preferable to none. However, do not mistake that for fondness, thief-- or for trust."

Legault nodded.

"All right. No warm fuzzy feelings."

He withdrew his offal pie from the fire and gingerly bit at it, a little curl of steam rolling out from its interior. Heath eyed the pie a moment.

"You still have more of those foul things remaining?"

"This is my last."

Heath watched him eat for a minute. Legault joked,

"Did you want some?"

Heath did not reply at first, but then said,

"Yes."

Legault stared at him.

"I thought you hated these with the passion of a thousand burning suns."

"I do," he said,

"But I have not eaten since daybreak."

Legault broke the pie in half and gave one half to Heath. They ate in companionable silence. After several minutes, Legault asked,

"How is it?"

"Terrible."

Despite that claim, he was eating with a certain gusto. Legault smiled a little to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a small but interesting difference after that night. Heath stopped slipping out to nightwatch on the sly and started informing Legault each time with a brusque comment or a look. Granted, that comment was usually just 'Thief,' but he did allow him to ride out on his wyvern. The gut-wrenching trips took some getting used to, but Legault was beginning to adjust. Eliwood's army was passing through a small mountain chain dotted with villages, so travel was less grueling for a while. There were even some nights they were able to stay within a village inn.

That was not the case on this particular evening-- at the moment they were halfway between two villages, in an area bandits sometimes trawled. As such, it was one of the nights they stood guard. The gravelly path crunched under boots as the pair walked to the summit, surrounded by towering pines. Hyperion was back at camp, having gotten into the camp's food storage and gorged herself until she couldn't move, and was now sleeping off her indulgences. Although Heath was quite annoyed with her he hadn't minded the extra exercise through the cool mountain air. It was a steady but gradual slope, and the final dying rays from the setting sun were dropping dappled light and shadow around them. For a while they hiked in tranquil silence, simply enjoying the landscape, but eventually began chatting casually about the bustling market Eliwood's group had run across the day prior.

"I was skeptical because it was only 300 gold, but it appears to be of quality craftsmanship. It feels well-balanced, as well."

"Yes, I saw that merchant. They did seem like good pieces."

"You should spar with me. I could test it properly then."

Legault laughed nervously.

"Well, I don't know about that."

"Why?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered. But you're likely to just be disappointed."

"Or are you afraid to face me?"

"You're damn right I am."

Heath gave a dissatisfied grunt as they reached a small clearing,

"I don't buy that."

"Heath, you'd likely turn me to a kebab. Is this where we're stopping?"

"Yes. Over there between those two trees, there's a lot of flat ground there."

"All right. You can clear an area. I'll fetch something at least vaguely flammable."

Clearly still keen on the sparring idea, Heath crossed his arms and smirked a little,

"I could kick you again. Seemed to work last time."

"Please don't."

"I make no promises," Heath murmured as Legault left to hunt for firewood. The thief felt his skin bristle at the low, teasing tone.

Twilight had fallen by the time they started up their fire, and Heath thankfully seemed to forget about sparring and had moved on to describe the more awful trinkets he'd come across in the market.

"I think it was intended as a charm for St. Elimine, but it looked to be carved from dung with a spoon. I had no idea Lycia contained such an impressive amount of garbage."

"Did you see the fellow with the magic potions? He tried to sell me something I'm pretty sure was pond sludge."

"Con men, counterfeiters, and peddlers of junk, every last one of them."

"Now, that's a bit harsh. What about your new lance?"

"The only exception in that village."

"Mm-hmm, but you're wrong there," Legault sing-songed, grinning knowingly. Heath looked at him quizzically.

"What are you on about?"

"I brought us a special little something I acquired yesterday."

 "I swear to the gods, Legault, if it's more of those pies--"

"It isn't. They sadly didn't have those," he said, rooting about in his shoulder bag from the market. He pulled a large clay bottle out and held it aloft.

"Tadaa!"

Heath actually seemed mildly impressed.

"Mead?"

"Yep."

 "Are you certain it isn't just pond sludge?"

"Only one way to find out," Legault said, rocking the cork stopper out with a pop. He tilted the bottle back and took a small sip. Heath watched expectantly for the verdict.

"Ok. That--" Legault said, and tilted the bottle again, taking a much bigger swig,

"--mm. Is some excellent pond sludge."

He held out the bottle to Heath, but the wyvern rider was hesitant.

"We're on duty, Legault."

"Pfft. It's just a bit of mead, we're not going to empty it tonight. And when's the last time we've actually run into trouble during nightwatch?"

"That isn't the point. We should always be prepared. We're responsible for protecting the safety of the camp."

Legault raised his brows and fixed Heath with a look. Heath frowned. Legault continued to look at him. Heath set his jaw. Legault stared.

Heath tried to ignore him. It didn't last for very long. He sighed.

"All right, just hand it over."

Legault passed it over, saying,

"I'm afraid I didn't bring cups so we need to drink out of the bottle like dirty savages."

Heath took a cautious sip from the stout bottle. His expression was unreadable. Legault asked,

"What do you think?"

After a moment, the man nodded and said approvingly,

"Good job, thief."

Legault tried very hard to not look like he was basking in the glow of Heath's approval, but a dumb smile reached his face anyway. Heath took a healthy swallow of mead.

"I guess not all of Lycia is garbage after all."

"Not when you have the right connections."

Heath handed the bottle back and then seemed to register what he said. In an unsurprised tone, he asked,

"Were your methods for acquiring this less than virtuous?"

Legault chuckled and said in a honeyed tone,

"I'm not sure what you're implying, Heath."

"That sort of thing could get our group into trouble, you know."

Legault took another drink and replied,

"Don't worry, nobody's going to miss a bottle that's fallen off the ample shelves of the local noble."

"Lord Gladwin?"

Legault nodded.

"Not a very popular fellow around here. Wasn't hard to get to. His servants practically begged me to help myself."

"Well, I suppose that's not so bad. I was concerned it may have been one of the merchants."

Legault looked appalled.

"Give me a little more credit than that. Do you really think I'd lift someone's livelihood?"

Heath was thrown off a moment.

"I . . . really was not certain."

 Legault shook his head.

"My targets have always been twisted nobles. Even when I was young and desperate, it was all I went after. Preying on the already vulnerable would just be cannibalism."

Off Heath's questioning look, Legault clarified,

"Going after my own kind, you know? Besides, exploiting the weak is as loathsome as it gets. I wasn't about to start doing it myself."

Heath smiled a little.

"An honorable thief. I would not have imagined it."

Legault chuckled.

"I do have _some_ standards. Admittedly, I also loved a good challenge. Going after highborn fat cats killed two birds with one stone."

 "And then you became Black Fang."

"Mmm. Almost seemed like a natural progression."

Heath appeared amused.

"I'm honestly a little surprised Eliwood asked you to join him, considering your history with nobility."

Legault laughed and took a drink.

"I don't hate nobility whole cloth. None of us did. We hated abuse of power. You make it sound as though we went about slaughtering willy-nilly. We actually had a very meticulous procedure for selecting targets."

The wyvern rider was clearly intrigued.

"How did it work?"

Legault made vague gestures.

"Well, you know, collecting information, holding discussions, drawing up guidelines, the likes."

"Guidelines?"

He nodded.

"What I mean is that everything was codified. Our criteria, our modus operandi, our decision-making, all of it. Reed knew playing both judge and executioner could lead to a slippery slope-- he didn't want any of us to end up abusing power in the very same way we loathed. Truth be told, we tried our best to ensure only the most abhorrent ones faced the Fang's judgment, unreachable through other means."

Heath seemed very thoughtful. He commented,

"I had no idea."

"We didn't exactly made it a habit to share information about ourselves," Legault said wryly.

"But enough of my banging on about my old job," he added brightly, handing Heath the mead back,

"I'm very happy to leave the past in the past. Best to enjoy the present. Wouldn't you agree?"

Heath looked at the clay bottle a moment, as if considering the question. He took a drink.

"A valid point."

The evening passed more pleasantly than Legault had expected, conversation curving around light and wonderfully unimportant things. As the crescent moon climbed higher in the sky, Legault found the bottle of mead growing lighter and lighter.

"Actually, an Etrurian couple took him in when he was quite young and raised him as their own. He's currently on a training sabbatical, apprentice sort of stuff."

"What about the young man from Sacae?"

"Ah, yes. Tells everyone he's on a personal crusade of sword mastery, but mainly it was because he couldn't cut it as a nomad. Nice fellow, though. Likes to cook. Makes a nice chicken curry."

"All right, fine. How about those two grody axe-fighters? I can't always tell them apart, to be honest."

"Dorcas is the quiet one. He's trying to earn money for a sick wife back in Pherae. Natalie, I believe it was. Bartre is the one always punching things. People, objects . . . he punched a horse once, actually. The horse didn't care for it. He ended up with his jaw wired shut and in traction for a few weeks. Bartre, that is, not the horse."

Heath crossed his arms and spoke with confidence,

"Very well. But here's one you won't get-- the red-headed man, Raven, I think? I've not heard him speak but two words since he joined."

"He's not much for conversation, is he? He is no simple mercenary, though, as claimed. He's disguising his identity-- he's actually of royal blood. For what purpose, I can't say, but I'd keep an eye on him if I were you."

"Dragon's teeth, Legault, how do you know all this?!"

"I talk to people! And also, well, I notice things."

"You spy on them?"

Legault snorted.

"I don't think it's spying when you're standing in plain sight. I just like to people watch. I always have."

"Strange hobby."

The thief shrugged.

"Something to do. People can be fascinating. I like to know how they tick."

Heath shook his head, bemused,

"So with all the strange and diverse characters around, why choose to spend your time sitting here?"

Legault laughed.

"Are you kidding? You're by far the most compelling."

Heath glanced away, huffing, but Legault could catch the brief embarrassed expression.

"I assure you I'm not."

Legault leaned forward on the log he was perched upon and purred,

"I saw the fire in your eyes the day you arrived. You're pure, undiluted tenacity. I like it."

"Give me that mead. You're sounding more foolish than usual."

Legault grinned and passed the bottle over, saying,

"Who's being modest now?"

Heath looked annoyed. To avoid answering, he took a draft from the bottle. After a moment, he blurted,

"You don't even know me, Legault."

Legault smiled wickedly,

"Would you like to change that?"

Heath recoiled.

"Oh, come on-- I'm only joking. You always do that."

"You have a bizarre sense of humor."

"Yes, I am a little strange, I suppose."

Heath raised his brows at him.

"I think you just like to unnerve people."

The thief laughed,

"That's not true! I'm a friendly fellow!"

"The first thing you did when you met me was sneak up on me."

"That was the second thing. Besides, that's how I'm friendly."

"Uh-huh. Here, just take this back."

Heath plunked the bottle back into his hands.

"I thought you said I've been spouting too much nonsense for this?"

"I've realized it doesn't really make any difference."

Legault grinned at him and was about to reply, but the smile faded from his face. He spoke in a normal tone, though slightly quieter,

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think someone's come to crash our private party."

Heath frowned at him.

"What are you talking about?"

Legault's eyes flicked very briefly to the trees behind them,

"I wasn't sure at first, but I am now. Two or three of them, trying to be stealthy, really quite bad at it. They're closing in from the old snag, and the boulder to the right."

Heath looked around and was about to jump to his feet, but Legault spat,

_"Wait."_

Heath balled his fist about the handle of his lance but did not move. He replied tersely,

"Why? I can face three easily."

Legault shook his head.

"You knights are always so gung-ho about charging in, blades blazing. This calls for a more subtle approach."

Impatiently, Heath said,

"What do you suggest then?"

 Legault nodded to the clearing in front of them,

"Go out to fetch some wood for the fire. Be loud about it. Drop into those trees and circle back. I'll be here as bait. They want the silly bags from yesterday's market, I'd bet."

"How do you--"

"--just go. They'll be within earshot soon."

Heath climbed to his feet, swaying only briefly, and then made a big production of telling Legault he was going to get more firewood.

"Sounds lovely to me. Can't have us catch our death out here, hmm? Ooh, try and find some pinecones while you're out there. I like how they crackle."

Heath rolled his eyes and strode off, with a reluctant backwards glance. Legault had reclined upon his log, hands tucked behind his head, looking at perfect peace. Heath clearly thought this was a stupid idea but vanished into the trees nevertheless.

Legault closed his eyes, concentrating completely on the sounds of the woods. Their pursuers drew closer and closer, emboldened and dropping much of the pretense of caution. Legault began to worry when they were practically upon him, but at that moment, a crash to his left through the underbrush announced Heath's assault.

A twisted ball of confusion burst out into the clearing, Heath whipping his lance about while two scruffy bandits swung axes at him in a panic. Heath's lance embedded itself in the leather armor of one bandit, and the ruffian's ally took advantage, going for Heath's throat while his weapon was caught. The knight ducked, the axe whistling just above him, and bodily shoved at the man while he was off-balance from his swing, then yanked his lance free and spun it around. The flat of the blade cracked hard off the bandit's skull, knocking him dizzily to the ground. The axe of the other fellow rang out against the back of Heath's breastplate, but failed to cleave through.

Thus far, Legault had been watching the scuffle, not feeling the need to step in. As Heath spun about and took on the bandit still standing, he still looked like he pretty much had things handled. However, something leapt in Legault's peripheral vision-- the third bandit that had been closing in from the other side, now charging at Heath while he was occupied. A simple glance confirmed Heath had yet to notice, busy driving his lance back into already torn armor.

Moments later Heath had felled his foe, but shot his head up at the approach of a third bandit barreling down at him. The bandit's expression shifted from angry to shocked as Legault pounced, arm hooked around the man's neck, cold blade pressed to his throat. The two skidded to a halt right in front of Heath, and stood there, Legault's dagger still pressed to the man's windpipe.

Heath stood from his crouched position over the man he'd just put a lance into. He watched the final bandit's eyes bug out as Legault leaned in, murmuring into his ear:

"Want to know a secret?"

The bandit swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing the dagger blade, but said nothing. Legault dropped to a whisper.

_"My friend here's scarier than me."_

The bandit whimpered. Legault muttered to him slowly,

"So if I let you go, you'd better be quick . . . I can't promise he won't follow . . . understand?"

The bandit made an unintelligible noise, and Legault said,

"Hmm? What was that?"

The man choked out a very strained 'yes' and after a moment, Legault removed his dagger and pulled away. The bandit stumbled immediately and nearly fell, but scrambled along in a sheer panic and then ran off into the woods. Heath and Legault watched him vanish, trees crashing behind him.

Legault turned to the other two dropped bandits and said,

"Guess he wasn't too interested in helping out his buddies."

Heath nodded at them,

"They'll live. I've only injured this one and the other will wake with a nasty headache."

They stared for a few moments at the crumpled bandits, as if still taking in what had happened. The fallen men were dressed in crusted leather armors and boots and festooned with various satchel bags and numerous blade sheaths. It was clear they were just local riffraff looking to pick off travelers.

"Looks like you were right about them being scavengers."

"Yeah, it explains why they were about as good at sneaking around as drunken sailors."

Heath turned to Legault, giving a short, breathless laugh,

"You certainly scared the wits out of that other one."

Legault shrugged a little,

"Sometimes all you need to do is talk a big talk."

Heath crossed his arms.

"And you claim you don't enjoy unnerving people."

"Well," Legault drawled, smile dancing lightly on his face,

"You're still the most fun for that."

Heath plucked his lance up and smiled slyly at Legault, then sunk into a battle position, eyes shining with zeal.

"Then come at me. My blood's still pumping and I'd like the extra practice."

Legault stumbled briefly on a tree root in his haste to step back and said,

"Ah-ha uh, what? Now? Shouldn't we report the little bandit problem to camp?"

Heath glanced back to the bandits, looking disappointed.

"Right. I suppose so."

He turned and gestured at Legault,

"Next time, then! You won't get out of it."

Legault winced, but answered,

"All right, all right. Just don't be too surprised if I end up getting blood on your nice new weapon."

Heath laughed-- really did so this time, a warmer, more free sound that contrasted from usual-- and Legault felt  stupid butterflies dance about in his stomach.

"I'll try to prevent it, if I can," the wyvern rider grinned, as they walked back to camp.


	6. Chapter 6

The sky opened before him in every direction. There was a strong, warm thermal today that lifted them higher and higher, in an almost effortless flight-- Hyperion barely had to even flap her wings. They just glided, climbing lazily into the castle of clouds, until the world below was like a distant memory.

Flying was one of the few times Heath was able to relax. Some days he would spend hours floating above the landscape, letting his mind drift aimlessly. There was something so peaceful about seeing everything from miles and miles away. Especially in recent times, Heath had relied heavily upon this sort of meditation for soothing his nerves and escaping from reality for a while.

He remembered the day he first crossed Bern's borders, a fresh fugitive with absolutely zero direction. Every time he closed his eyes he could see his brothers-in-arms raining savage death upon a pitifully helpless village, and it turned his stomach. He spent perhaps nine or ten hours flying as high and as far as he could reach that day, only stopping because poor Hyperion was absolutely exhausted. The next day, he very nearly died when he ran into a Bern patrol, despite being certain he had outpaced them at that point.

After that, Heath knew that no amount of flying would allow him to outrun his problems. He still indulged in it, but only as a very temporary escape. In the back of his mind, he always knew he would eventually need to land. The world below was a complicated, messy place, but it was one he needed to return to and somehow learn to navigate.

Heath could put it off for a little longer, though. He spent some time popping into clouds and looping easy circles, just focusing on the feel of the wind sweeping across his body. The sun was warm and bright upon his back, which contrasted deliciously with the chilling breeze. He closed his eyes, leaning into Hyperion, easily adept enough at knowing the feel of the wyvern's flight to glide without looking. Suspended there in space, it felt like time itself slipped away, the only sound the occasional flap of the wyvern's expansive wings.

The wyvern rider was uncertain how long he remained in the sky, but when he opened his eyes he realized the sun had moved along quite a bit from its original position. Turning his mount in the direction of camp, he decided it was about time he headed back. His father had always told him that he spent too much time with his mind in the clouds, and perhaps he'd been right on that point. If he'd spent more of his youth submerged in the world and less of that time dreaming, there were certain harsh lessons that might have come sooner rather than later.

Hyperion trampled a number of bushes and kicked up dirt as she arrived just outside of camp, not her most graceful of landings. Heath gave her a gentle scolding as he dismounted, and she shook her head and chirped grumpily. She was probably a little hungry. Heath decided he'd fetch her a snack once they'd returned. Guiding his wyvern by the reins, they walked into camp, which was a relatively peaceful sight at the moment. Heath knew they were waiting to receive word back from Marquess Ostia, so things were not nearly as chaotic as usual. The manager of supplies, some oddball merchant they had picked up at some point named Merlinus, had a few people helping him cart some things about, and there were a few knights chattering. Heath passed them by and made his way over to the tent that housed the mounts and draft animals.

After securing Hyperion in her stable, Heath considered whether he should head to the supply area and get the rest of the dried fish for Hyperion, or if he should be lazy and just see if he could sneak anything from the mess tent for her. Yesterday there had been some cheese, and while it was unlikely any remained, he did know of her fondness for the fattening food. He decided he might as well swing by to see if any remained. Wandering the short path over, he reached the tent and poked his head inside. Only a few people were in there, but Heath stopped short when his eye fell upon a familiar figure, arms crossed, leaning against a table, smirk decorating his face as he spoke quietly with some messy-haired warrior. Heath hesitated, frozen a moment, then backed up and retreated. He felt a little sheepish as he left, but he really didn't want to go in there. There was hardly anyone inside and Legault would spot him immediately. Heath switched his path to head to the supply tent instead.

Truth be told, it had been the reason he'd gone flying today to begin with. The man had been troubling his mind lately. When this all began, Heath never imagined the strange thief that persistently spoke to him would ever be anything other than an obstacle to avoid. When he joined Eliwood's group he swore a silent oath that he would not fall prey to past mistakes, and would remain as vigilant and self-reliant as he could. For the most part, it had been an easy promise to keep. There had been plenty of people in Eliwood's company that tried to talk to him, plied him for his life story, or made friendly overtures. They had been easy to rebuff, however. Most realized soon enough that Heath preferred to keep to himself and enjoy his time alone, and only a few had needed a sterner reminder of this fact.

There was one, though, that persisted without fail. Heath had tried everything to dissuade the thief from his bizarre preoccupation with him, but no matter how sour-tempered or blunt he was, and no matter how careful he was to avoid him, the man never seemed to be deterred. Heath spent weeks and weeks alternatively convinced Legault had some ulterior motive or was simply being obnoxious, but as time wore on, he started to glimpse the truth of things: Legault was genuinely drawn to him. He looked at him with eyes that seemed to cut through all his evasion and misdirection. Heath found it alarming.

That little spike of alarm shot through him every time Legault was near. It continued with each passing night as he came to know the thief. It continued as Heath's defenses eroded away and a sort of tolerance began to take hold, then a preference for his company. And it continued as Heath found himself becoming slowly entangled in fascination. He began to anticipate that shot of adrenaline, and he found he began to almost crave it. It was a foolish game; he knew that well enough. The entire venture threatened to collapse his goal of maintaining a safe distance from everyone. Unfortunately, Legault had ended up being unavoidably compelling.

Heath ducked into the supply tent, wandering to the back of the stacks of crates. He sighed to himself. None of this would have really been a problem, had the silly dalliances with danger remained confined to his nightwatches. But things had spilled over into the rest of life, and he and Legault were inching towards something recklessly close to friendship at this point. They would chat during dreary lulls. They had each other's backs on the battlefield. Heath would seek him out when the other knights tried to get chummy with him, which acted as a handy buffer. They even sparred on a semi-regular basis now. That last one had taken some convincing, as Legault still insisted he was terrible at direct combat, but Heath knew his skills outstripped his claims. Their sparring had only confirmed it.

Heath finally located the correct crate and pulled it from the stack. As he set out again to the stables, he resolved to put some distance back between the two of them. A little company during nightwatch was all well and good, but this was getting out of hand. The last thing he needed right now was to compromise his judgment or grow attached to anybody. Admittedly, it had been nice to unwind a little lately-- it was something he hadn't really done in a long time-- but they were frivolous indulgences. He'd had enough of those. It was time to get his head out of the clouds.

As involved as Heath had been with his thoughts, it took him a while to realize that the knight hollering as he left the stables was, in fact, shouting at him. He approached the excessively energetic fellow.

"What is it that you want?"

The goofy Caelin knight gestured wildly,

"Didn't you hear me? There's a meeting going on in the officer's tent. All military units are supposed to be there. You'll probably want to go to that. I guess you weren't around? It's already started by now."

Heath eyed the man.

"Why aren't you present?"

He laughed.

"Fear not! Sain would never shirk his knightly responsibilities. I'm just, er, arriving fashionably late. I was detained by . . . well . . ."

Sain glanced around, then smiled enormously.

". . . a _very_ lovely lady. She was emphatic that I stay a while, and it would have been absolutely unchivalrous of me to just leave--"

"--forget that I asked. Excuse me."

"--wait! Don't you want to hear about her?"

Thankfully, Heath had a long stride, and outpaced Sain quickly enough. He reached the officer's tent in the middle of camp and stepped inside. The air was stuffy and warm, the tent packed with dozens of people, all crowded around a table in the center. Eliwood's group was not large by any stretch of the imagination, but with the majority crammed into a single tent, it did almost give the impression of something substantial. Lord Eliwood and Lady Lyndis were at the table in the center of the room, a large scroll unrolled across the table that was a map of the region, weighed down by candles. They were clearly in the thick of a deep discussion, the map dotted with the colored flattened marbles they used as markers.

". . . now, Marquess Worde has been in Etruria this past month, but his retainers met with us briefly during our passing through their territory. They informed us the Marquess is due to return within a fortnight. There is potential that he will be further delayed, however, and it would be best if we moved instead directly to Ryerde . . ."

Heath cast his eye about, wrinkling his nose, and picked his way through the crowd, locating a corner at the back of the tent that was away from the main group and not as claustrophobic. He crossed his arms and peered at the lords, trying to sort out what they were explaining.

". . . is why we were hesitant. Ryerde has traditionally had poor relations with Pherae. Lord Paxton is Marquess Ryerde's father-in-law, and we had been hoping once we gained him that Ryerde would be easier to convince. As it stands now, our only bargaining chip with Lord Hornsby may be sheer intimidation from Ostia. Fortunately, Thria is a different matter . . ."

Eventually Heath determined that the lords were describing their plans for attempting to recruit the various Lycian houses for their cause. Ever since their return from the Dread Isle, they had been scrambling to develop the next step in their game plan. The nobles had decided to meet with Marquess Ostia to discuss options, but they were still waiting to hear word back, the Marquess having requested some time to consider things. In the meantime, apparently they were considering corralling up as much of Lycia as they could in what was potentially a full-scale assault upon Nergal's stronghold.

". . .very good position. So long as Ostia is on our side, Thria too shall follow. If we are to follow the northern path, it would place us in Tuscana in three weeks. Now, Tuscana is an interesting case. The Marchioness is a bit eccentric and prefers to not be involved in any Lycian disputes whatsoever. She is said to be so secretive that only a few living in Tuscana even know her face. Yet their army is considerable, and any efforts to contact them would be time well spent. Lyndis had the idea . . ."

It was ambitious, to say the least. Lycia was a patchwork quilt of a ridiculous number of noble houses. Heath wondered how they ever managed a unified effort. By all rights, the entire country should have collapsed by now into petty squabbles and in-fighting, but they still were able to hold their own, even sandwiched between the powerful Etruria and Bern. He had to admire their pluck, in the very least. If Eliwood did manage to convince them of the seriousness of the threat they faced, it would certainly aid them a great deal.

"This, of course, depends on how receptive the Marchioness is. It may take some time simply to be granted the honor of speaking with her directly. However, with a great deal of tact and finesse, I believe this approach would be very effective. We'll simply need to work through her network of vassals and advisors. If Lord Eldred still is living in Tuscana, it should offer some avenues . . ."

Heath shifted on his feet and sighed quietly. The only trouble was that all of these politics with lords and lordlings and Marquesses and territories and whatnot was protracted, agonizingly dull business. Heath loathed this sort of nonsense, which is why he was a knight, not a strategist or a diplomat. He preferred action to words, even though he knew the dreary negotiations were sometimes a necessity. So he listened to Lord Eliwood babble on about Tuscana for another ten minutes and felt a little wave of hope as he seemed to be reaching some sort of conclusion on it.

". . . explains it all very nicely. Assuming the shipments arrive on time, it would be perfect. After that, the only loose ends to tie up are the Caldonia contracts, which Eldred is more than fit to handle. It should be smooth sailing from there."

Eliwood paused, sipping some water, and the crowd murmured and chattered among themselves.

"Now. Onto Khathelet," Eliwood began, moving the little marble markers on the map. Heath exhaled through his teeth in exasperation, trying his best not to be audible in his frustration. Eliwood launched into an introduction to the Khathelet lords, and Heath set his jaw, shifting again, re-crossing his arms.

A velvety tone purred in his ear,

"Getting a little restless?"

Heath jumped, sucking in a breath. Jerking to look to his right, Legault hovered inches beside him, with a satisfied smile spread wide across his face. Heath didn't even have the ability to glare at the moment, heart still hammering in his ears. He settled for hissing at him,

"Legault you piece of sh--"

"--ah ah, now now, not in front of the lordlings--"

"-- you almost _killed_ me."

"Honestly, that might be a mercy at this point. Have you really been standing here for this whole meeting?"

Heath glanced around the room and the crowd of very unenthusiastic people, replying hesitantly,

"Most of it, I think."

"Quite the glutton for punishment."

"Everyone was supposed to attend," Heath said in a harsh half-whisper.

"Mmm, I thought of it more as a suggestion."

Heath rolled his eyes and answered, trying to keep his voice low,

"You would slink off. Then why are you here now?"

Legault shrugged.

"Got curious. Thought maybe you were all secretly having a party in here."

The knight snorted.

"Believe me, no."

"Yes, I got the impression I wasn't missing much. It does worry me, though."

Heath knitted his brows.

"What does?"

Legault watched the two lords still addressing the crowd.

"Well, there may not be much time left for anything else, once Eliwood's finished blowing smoke up the asses of every Lord Haughtybody in the country."

Heath coughed into his hand, smothering the laugh. He shook his head a little.

"You claim to have a silver tongue but I think you mostly just have a smart mouth."

Legault smirked and answered in a low tone,

"Care to know what else I can do with those?"

Heath ruffled,

"Legault, I swear--"

"You swear what?" Legault replied, daring him with mischievous eyes.

"I'll kick you."

"Sounds more fun than hanging about here. Meet me at the edge of camp by the thicket and I'll give you the chance to."

"Wait, what?"

"Sparring, you dunce."

Heath looked about the crammed tent. Eliwood was prattling on about Badon.

"Now? The meeting . . ."

Legault snickered.

"You want to stay here?"

Heath frowned, hesitant.

"I . . . it's our duty to attend."

"Mmm, I see. Still the eager, obedient knight? I thought you were your own man now, Heath."

Heath gave him an annoyed look and Legault whispered to him melodramatically,

_"I thought you were a rebel like me."_

"You're a moron."

"All right, have fun then. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

The thief melted back into the crowd as quickly as he'd first appeared, then tossed him a last look of glimmering lavender before vanishing entirely.

Heath looked back to Eliwood.

". . . Badon's military positioning is therefore extremely valuable . . ."

Dragon's teeth.

He wasn't falling for this ploy. He wasn't.

Admittedly, it was an offer Legault infrequently made, but--

No. Heath decided he was keeping away. That's all there was to it. He wasn't messing about with Legault any longer. It was ridiculous. He'd just have to stay here for the rest of this. Besides, it wasn't really that bad. He just had to--

"Damnit," Heath cursed helplessly. There was no way in hell he was staying here. That resolve snapped like kindling. There was zero benefit to being here, and he'd rather keep his skills in check with sparring then decay his mind listening to another minute of these ramblings.

Just one last time. One more time wouldn't hurt. 

That was how Heath ended up cautiously approaching the patch of trees at the edge of camp, armed with his favorite lance and wondering if he was making a mistake. In the very least, nobody was likely to notice his absence, as slipping out had been easy enough. He reached the woods in very little time and stepped onto the carpet of pine needles, scanning about. The area was very quiet and still.

Heath considered the possibility that Legault had left by now. He peered around more and frowned. He was about to call out when a voice came to his left,

"Hey, now, that's breaking the rules. No wearing more layers of armor than your opponent is."

Heath turned, the thief materializing from the trees. He glanced down at his bulky metal breastplate and grunted,

"Forgot. Give me a minute."

"Sure. Although I can't see how you can stand wearing that thing. Must be worse than a corset. You're practically always in it."

Heath shot him a look as he dropped his arm and elbow guards to the ground.

"I'm on duty, I wear it. You should always be prepared for battle."

"Well, at least you draw the line at being off-duty. I was beginning to wonder if you slept in it."

Heath bit his lip slightly as he unbuckled his breastplate.

". . . you . . . you don't sleep in it, right?"

"Sometimes," he confessed, unstrapping the last of the buckles. Legault practically giggled.

"Oh, Heath. My silly fellow. It's a wonder you don't pop from how wound up you always are."

"Shut up. You'd be paranoid too in my position."

"I suppose."

Heath let the breastplate clatter down and then kicked off his leg guards. Having shed all the Bern armor plates, he wore a simple long-sleeved black shirt and white trousers underneath. He dug the handle of his lance into the dirt, opening his other hand, presenting himself.

"Satisfied?"

Legault nodded.

"Very."

"Good," Heath said, brandishing his lance and stepping forward.

"Whoa there. What happened to counting to ten?"

The thief had always been reluctant about open combat-- in the past, he'd insisted on starting off with some distance between them, so they had to track one another. While it was true Legault's strengths clearly involved stealth and subterfuge, Heath had found he'd been surprisingly decent at actual combat. Apparently, Legault still doubted that fact.

"You don't really need that anymore, do you?"

"Ah, well--"

Heath stepped forward more, smiling wolfishly. Legault pulled his dagger from his sheath and cursed.

"All right, all right. Eager to start, I get it. Let's go."

Heath looked for an opening, Legault crouching low and incredibly tensed, long curved dagger held at the ready. He shot his lance out, the thief leaping out of the way immediately, then swung the lance around to try and catch him, but he slipped under-- swing, swing, swing several times over, each time the thief leaping aside or ducking away. He stepped forward as Legault backed away-- then jutted the lance out again with a harsh slash.

Once again, Legault bounded away, and backed off more. Heath said roughly,

"You want to attack sometime?"

Legault answered in a tense sort of sing-song,

"When I'm ready."

Heath came at him again, digging his lance at his legs. Legault jumped aside and ducked as Heath swung back up. The lance _slash_ , _slashed_ \-- Legault still dodging, still backing off. Heath gave a sweeping arc at his head, the blade zipping by just shy of him as he jumped backward. The knight snarled in frustration and charged, tired of being toyed with. Legault stood his ground for a half-second.

Then he twisted sideways, the subtlest of motions, the lance barreling past him and digging into the tree behind him. As he did so, he sprang forward, his dagger seeking Heath's chest. The knight felt a shot of panic and dropped, plowing into the pine needles and dirt and then yanking himself forward  in an ungraceful lurch, debris flying as he scrambled to his feet.

Legault stood there, still crouched with dagger at the ready, staring back at him. Heath breathed,

"Clever little shit."

The man smiled and replied in a strained tone,

"Flattery'll get you nowhere."

Heath leapt forward, coming at him again, as Legault easily dodged. The lance motions came smoothly and easily-- swing here, there, here, Legault now taking occasional swings at him in return. It felt like now that Legault was warmed up, he was moving more confidently and was more willing to take risks and fight back. Heath enjoyed the rhythm they settled into, that feeling he always had during sparring, the movements automatic and instinctive.

Heath leapt back as the dagger glittered in the air right at his face, a shooting star wishing for his doom-- Legault laughed in exuberance. The knight brought his lance about, as if swinging at Legault, but punched his wrist into the handle, reversing the swing and thwacking the lance handle at Legault instead. The stick grazed the man's knee and caused him to gasp in pain, but he rebounded quickly, jabbing at Heath. The knight drew back and Legault drove at him, again, again, again, having him on the disadvantage. Heath skidded to one side and thrust quickly, a precise shot that struck hard on the dagger and flung it from Legault's grasp. The thief cursed and ducked as Heath took a shot at him, then wheeled and leapt about as the knight mercilessly took advantage of his lack of weapon. He managed to scramble away from Heath and took a second to glance about and locate his fallen dagger.

Heath charged, and Legault dove for his weapon. As he landed he rolled and cleanly plucked his dagger up, then turned about. Heath was practically upon him already, a looming figure over his crouched frame. Heath was certain he had him, but as he closed the distance, Legault flung a cloud of dirt and pine needles into his face. Heath growled and swiped away the debris, then whirled around violently, but couldn't catch sight of Legault.

Standing tensely, weapon at the ready, he scanned the trees around him more carefully, realizing the thief really had given him the slip. Breathing heavily from exertion, he strained to listen over the sound of his own bounding heartbeat, turning, jerking about, searching.

The thicket was eerily quiet.

Heath felt the adrenaline tingling at his skin, noticing the silence and stillness made him feel electric, drinking in the anticipation. It was absurd, but he almost liked the feeling; the calm before the storm.

He waved the lance about and taunted light-heartedly,

"I'm waiting, Hurricane."

He stood still.

The air was gentle and peaceful. Heath watched an errant leaf flutter to the ground. Nothing else moved.

Heath remained still. His hands, gripping his lance, quivered from the tension.

When the silence broke, it was like a thunderclap rending the air directly behind him. Heath spun about, having fully expected to be rushed from behind, but Legault still moved frightfully fast. He was barely able to complete the motion in time, the dagger halted by his lance handle, a pair of stormy eyes locked with his own. The moment lasted but an instant, yet seemed to hang; the lance was awkward in such close quarters, and Heath knew he was in trouble.

It became a chaotic scuffle as Legault attacked and Heath grabbed his dagger arm. Legault twisted in his grip and the lance fell aside, Heath grabbing at the slippery thief that wrenched himself free, desperately trying to gain purchase on him again. With a kick, Legault escaped him and tried to retaliate, but Heath slammed into him bodily. They wrestled for the dagger, frantic and floundering, and although Legault put up a spirited fight, the wyvern knight had him overpowered. He finally locked the thief into a tight chokehold from behind, arm wrapped around his neck. Legault made a choked, feral noise and struggled against him, to no avail. Heath growled out as he held fast against his struggles,

"It's . . . my . . . win. . ."

Legault stopped wriggling and gasped out,

"I still have my blade."

Heath had to admire his stubbornness, if not his wisdom. He shifted slightly to disarm him, the smallest of motions, but then it all happened so rapidly; the thief squirmed to the side just a little, and Heath felt a jolt of pain as an elbow jammed his chin; Legault slipped partially out of his grip and the weight shifted unfavorably in Heath's footing for just a moment. Somehow, Legault took advantage of that, because the next thing Heath knew, his leg was yanked out from under him and they went tumbling painfully down to the ground.

Mercifully, upon landing, the blade had not impaled him, but he did find Legault managed to twist about in the fall and gain the upper hand. A dagger was held to his throat, the thief straddled upon him, eyes wild and breath heavy. Legault's bandana had slipped off so that loose purple locks framed his frenzied face, and he was smudged with dirt across his scar, completing the ferocious picture. He looked positively elated.

Heath was too busy panting to speak at first, but remained still in his grip, knowing when he was beat. A crazy euphoria was rushing through him, all his senses screaming alight, the ridiculously feral fight like nothing he'd experienced in ages. Breathlessly, Legault dropped the dagger and spoke,

"Gotcha."

Heath's chest hitched in a silent laugh. He tried to find words, but his brain was still swimming. He settled for sucking in a few breaths, then tried again, puffing out,

"I concede."

Legault grinned, and Heath acted on a silly impulse, rolling them over in one rapid, clean motion. It was obviously the furthest thing Legault had expected, so Heath had no problem flipping them so that he had Legault pinned down instead. He smiled devilishly down at him.

"Still my win."

Legault spluttered,

"You--"

He seemed to drop into inarticulate sounds and then abandon trying to speak altogether, looking remarkably flustered. It was a delicious sight, catching him so off-kilter, and Heath drank it in.

From somewhere behind them, Heath heard a throat being cleared, and then an exasperated voice;

"Are you two _finished_ yet?"

The knight turned his head. Lord Hector stood there with his arms crossed, wearing an unamused expression. Heath uttered a surprised,

"M'lord?"

The lord gestured impatiently at them.

"While you've both been busy beating the crap out of each other the camp's been getting ready to leave. Head back, pronto."

Dazed, Heath got off of Legault and helped pull him to his feet. He worked to process what Hector had said and replied dumbly,

"I thought we were due to depart tomorrow, m'lord."

Hector shot back,

"Change of plans. That Ninian girl just had a premonition. Nergal's targeting the East next. We march to Bern."

Heath and Legault looked at each other.

"Bern, sir?"

Hector turned on his heel and started heading back to camp.

"That's right. Pack up and head to the south road."

"Isn't that the wrong way?" Legault called after him.

As Hector walked off, he answered,

"Just a quick detour my brother wants us to make first. Get moving."

The lord disappeared through the trees. Heath turned back to Legault, stunned by all of this. They were both still breathing heavy from their scuffling; blood still pounding hot. Legault tugged his cape around his waist, clearing his throat a little. For some reason, he seemed slightly awkward, but Heath was too busy trying to come to grips with the new orders to stop and analyze it. He asked,

"What do you make of it?"

Legault shrugged.

"I guess we go whichever way the wind blows."

Heath looked out into the trees where Hector had walked off.

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

Sadly without the time to dawdle further, the two of them hurried back to camp.


	7. Chapter 7

The desert heat was absolutely oppressive. It was almost like a physical entity was pressing against Heath from all sides. It blotted out his senses and slowed his thinking to a dull crawl, which matched his pace of progress through the landscape. All around him, the sands rose in dunes and flowed like shifting seas, blurry and endless, swallowed up by the horizon with little indication of true distances. Sounds were deadened by the dunes in an almost unnatural manner, and the only noteworthy objects in the sandy void beyond an occasional stumpy cactus was the sight of Eliwood's group, traveling in a scattered caravan. They had been walking for many hours, although Heath was not sure exactly how many; in fact, he was uncertain how many days they had been traveling now as well. It had been difficult to sleep in the desert heat, so the days had started to blur together as seamlessly as the sands. Between the sleep deprivation and the relentless march, Heath felt as though he were wandering in a trance. The whole world felt dreamy and surreal.

His trance did not seem to break even when they finally paused in their grim journey to eat and rest. The sun was angled much lower in the sky, but the heat was still just as suffocating and relentless. The bedraggled group had no intention of breaking camp here, but they hastily assembled a few tents to provide precious shade for the short break. Heath dragged his feet through the dusty tent and the crowd of tired, dirty people and then dropped onto an overturned crate to sit. It was almost dizzying to stop moving, as he'd grown so accustomed to the sight of the sand passing by as they walked. For a moment, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he reached for his canteen and took a long drink. A thought floated through his mind that he'd gone soft. He had grown so accustomed to riding on the back of his wyvern on long journeys. He could have done the same now, of course, but there would have been little point. He would have outpaced the rest of the group several times over and would need to waste Hyperion's energy flying in place for much the time. Better to expend his own energy than waste hers. He had to admit, though, that the Nabata had completely taken him by surprise. He had no idea that the journey on foot would be this arduous.

In truth, he was exhausted to his core. The desert had a way of slowly sapping your strength, bit by bit. It was hardly even perceptible at first, but over time, the effects added up to a crushing weight. Heath's limbs felt heavy, his body beaten down, and there was very little will left within him to continue moving. He stared listlessly across the tent at nothing in particular, glassy-eyed and disengaged with the world. Very little passed through his mind, other than a vague curiosity over how many more hours they had ahead of them to march.

Then, a familiar sound caught Heath's ear, breaking him from his trance. He felt a small jolt within him, a tiny flicker stirring in his chest despite the complete and utter depletion of all his energy. Turning to look to his right, he spotted the source of the sound. Legault was close by, leaning against one the tent posts and talking to a Caelin knight. The orange-haired knight seemed to mildly tolerate whatever was being said, but eventually moved on, leaving Legault to his own devices. The desire to move flushed back into Heath, blood flowing again to his limbs.

It was preposterous, but hearing Legault felt freakishly similar to catching the sweet caress of a cooling breeze in the suffocating heat; somehow reinvigorating, even in all its subtlety. Heath had no idea why it affected him that way, but he was too weary to fight the temptation today. He was compelled to move, inevitably pulled in by the craving to be in his presence.

"You're looking far too spry for a lackluster thief in the middle of the desert."

Legault turned, then rewarded him with a grin of pure pleasure.

"Maybe if you silly knights didn't insist on lugging hot metal armor around, you could keep up."

Heath crossed his arms.

"I don't buy it. You've been hitching a ride on one of the supply wagons or something, haven't you?"

"Oh, come now. You don't really think I would stoop to that, do you?"

Heath narrowed his eyes and stared at him. Legault's mouth twitched in a brief hint of smirk. Heath exclaimed,

"You knave! You absolutely did exactly that."

Legault replied coyly,

"Maybe for short portions of the journey."

Heath shook his head at him. The thief returned,

"My point still stands on your armor. I can't believe you're still wearing it."

Heath shot back at him airily,

"Why are you always trying to get me out of my armor?"

The words hadn't even left his mouth before he realized how Legault would react. His lavender brows arched up and Heath quickly added,

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't need to. I know how your mind works."

Legault chuckled as if he took great delight in the comment.

"Oh, I don't think that you do. Not the dirty details."

"You can keep those to yourself."

"Your loss. Have you eaten yet?"

Heath shook his head, muttering,

"Not really. The heat doesn't do wonders for my appetite. And the rations taste like dust."

Legault shot a furtive glance around, then leaned in a little.

"If it interests you, I might have something a little finer than sandy rations."

Heath was definitely intrigued.

"Keep talking."

"Just something I picked up in Ostia. Was about to finish it off myself."

He pulled some wrapped paper parcels from his satchel and chirped,

"Bulgaran pie?"

"Legault, there's something wrong with you."

"I know. You want one?"

Heath frowned.

"I . . . yeah, all right."

He accepted one of the packages and sat down backwards in an empty chair, unwrapping it. Still leaning against the tent post, Legault spoke to him through bites of cold pie.

"So how much longer do you figure we'll be wandering this wasteland?"

Heath bit into his own pie and answered flippantly,

"Until we catch our death, it seems."

Legault chuckled.

"So little faith in our fearless leaders."

Heath looked around before saying in a quieter voice,

"Only because we have no idea what we're searching for. We're not even traveling in a consistent direction."

"What, finding a legendary somethingrather isn't specific enough for you?"

Heath snorted. Legault carried on,

"All right, so it's a bit vague. But you need to learn to enjoy the journey, Heath. Don't worry so much about the destination."

The wyvern knight gave him an incredulous look.

"Are you actually serious?"

Legault cracked a smile.

"No. Personally, I think there's a good chance we'll all be bleached bones before long."

"Hmph. Comforting thought. I thought you were supposed to be the optimist."

"The cautious optimist. I'm also realistic."

The knight grunted, biting into more pie as Legault continued,

"That said, there's equal odds we'll waltz out of here perfectly fine. You never know. I gave up predicting fate long ago."

"I suppose," Heath said through a muffled bite. He cast an idle gaze around the ragged group.

"I hope we waltz soon. I feel as though the sand's gotten inside my skull. It's a wonder I can still carry on a conversation at this point."

Legault smiled.

"I'll try not to tax your brain too terribly. I'll just-- goodness, Heath. You're eating that like a starving wolf. Are you sure you hate these pies?"

Heath glanced up, swallowing another bite and looking self-conscious.

"I'm not . . . I don't know. They sort of grow on you, I guess."

 The thief looked victorious.

"I told you they would."

"It's either that or it's just further proof I've gone mad from this place."

"In that case, I think I like you a little mad."

Heath huffed a laugh.

"I'm not so sure I care for it."

"Mm. At least we'll break camp in a few more hours. Should be nice to cool our heels for a bit."

Heath crumpled his empty pie wrapper and tossed it aside.

"Not really looking forward to that either, to be honest."

"Why not?"

The knight leaned into one hand.

"Haven't been sleeping. It's incredibly dull sweltering in my tent, waiting for daybreak." 

Legault finished up his meat pie as well and neatly folded and tucked away the wrapper. Then he drawled,

"Well, if you're bored, you could always drop by for some entertainment."

Heath gave him a look laden with suspicion. Legault returned,

"What? I'm serious. We always have fun, don't we? I mean, ah, last time was rather lively . . ."

The wyvern knight felt his heart quicken as Legault trailed off. The thief had hit upon something that, in truth, had been rolling about in the back of Heath's brain the entire time they'd been marching in the desert sun. Heath was reluctant to admit his fascination, but entirely against those wishes, he blurted out,

"I confess that has still been on my mind."

Legault raised his brows just slightly. Like a bowstring being drawn taunt, he uttered a curious:

"Oh?"

Heath continued to babble.

"I found it striking. I have sparred many times with many foes, but nothing before has ever been quite so . . . _raw._ "

Legault shifted on his feet. It seemed his smooth composure had been ruffled.

"Yes, it, ah. Well. I don't usually go all out like that."

The little electric thrill returned to Heath's chest, and he grinned.

"Maybe you should a little more often."

Legault exhaled, glancing away a moment and licking his lips, before looking back and saying,

"You're going to be the death of me, aren't you?"

Heath laughed freely.

An argument from a few people walking by made Legault glance up. After a moment, Heath realized it was Eliwood and Hector.

"That's still going to take us a good half day, bare minimum. That area is huge!"

"It isn't that big. Hector, if we can find that ring, it could make an enormous difference. Ninian says it's blessed by Filla and can enhance a fighter's strength."

"Yeah, but how do we even know there's anything there at all? We're going on the word of a strange little girl living in a house in the middle of the desert."

"We don't know, but it's worth checking out, don't you think?"

 Hector gave an exasperated sigh as Heath and Legault exchanged glances.

"Normally, yes, I would agree. But we just can't spare the extra time right now. You know our supplies are dwindling."

"All I'm suggesting is a few hours. It isn't far from here."

"A few _hours?!_ Eliwood, you're nuts. You can't search an area like that in a few hours. This place is just one sand dune after the next. Assuming it isn't _buried_ , nobody could spot a little ring in this mess."

"I'm just--"

"I could," Legault cut in casually. The two lords stopped arguing and looked at him. Eliwood stepped closer and said,

"Legault. Do you really think you could?"

The thief shrugged.

"I've got sharp eyes. If it's out there, I'm sure I'd spot it."

Eliwood turned to Hector keenly.

"We can let him try, at least. It's not as though the rest of us couldn't use a little extra rest. What do you say, Hector?"

The lord seemed mildly annoyed, but he thrust a small piece of parchment at Legault.

"Fine. Knock yourself out. Just be sure to be back here in two hours. We'll leave with or without you."

As Hector left, Eliwood added,

"Thanks, Legault. Don't mind Hector. We wouldn't really leave without you."

Legault gave a nonchalant little salute, and Eliwood moved to catch up with Hector. Heath looked over Legault's shoulder at the parchment he was examining. It was an incredibly crude map of the region, with a circled area near what seemed to be some large animal bones. Legault tilted his head to look to Heath.

"Fancy going on a little treasure hunt?"

The air felt thick with the heat, and pushing through it almost felt as if forcing through a dense bog. Heath concentrated on plunging one foot in front of the other, sloshing in the loose sand, moving forward almost mechanically. The two of them methodically tackled the search area, but it rapidly became apparent this would not be a quick foray. After about twenty minutes they had only covered a small fraction of ground. This was already at a pace that seemed to Heath to be far too quick to properly search for a small ring. Legault would only give sweeping glances about the ground and carry on with a spritely step. Heath had asked him several times if he really thought that it was adequate, but the thief had insisted it was. Rather than question him further, Heath just accepted it and resolved himself to keeping his own eye out as best he could.

As time pressed on and the vision of endless sands blurred before Heath's eyes, his determination to search slowly drained away. He began to focus more on the task of simply keeping up after Legault, which started to feel like enough of a duty in itself. Although the sun was not at its height, the time of day was at its worst for the built-up heat, rising up from the ground as a solid column of dragon's breath. Even Legault's effervescent energy began to flag. Gradually, his steps were also reduced to a slow trudge through the sands. The heat had worked its wicked way like a slow poison, enfeebling and stupefying. Heath's head felt as if it were swimming.

"Why are we out here," Heath said to his companion, struck by the absurdity of it all.

"Hmm?"

Heath gave a very dry laugh.

"Why am I not back at the tent? This, it's stupid. Eliwood's mad. You're mad for humoring him. I'm-- I'm especially mad for following you. Why did I agree to this?"

Legault gave a weary shrug.

"Because I'm utterly charming and you can't say no to me?"

Heath wrinkled his brow.

"Maybe. No. Legault. Just-- answer me seriously, please."

The thief laughed a little.

"All right, seriously. You said you wanted to make sure I didn't turn to bleached bones out here on my own, remember?"

"Right. Yes. I remember."

Heath pondered this a moment, his thoughts muddied and slowed.

"I should have considered it more carefully. I should just leave."

"What? And leave me out here to die? All alone?"

"Yes."

"You haven't a cold and callous bone in your body, Heath, you're not fooling me."

"My stupid sentimental bones shall keep yours company out here, if we don't leave."

 "Oh, you're just being dramatic. Treasure! Adventure! Thrills! We can have it all out here."

Heath looked at the insane man, who had bounced enthusiastically to punctuate his points.

"I think you're ill."

Legault seemed to regret exerting himself. His forward progress through the sand slowed a little. After a few moments, he said,

"That's a distinct possibility. To tell you the truth . . ."

Heath followed behind Legault's labored steps and waited for him to complete his thought.

". . . I'm flippin' melting. It's hot out here."

"Yeah, no kidding."

They were cresting a fairly large dune, and Legault panted,

"I'm . . . I think I'm just going to dump my canteen on myself."

Heath exhaled what was supposed to be a laugh.

"That isn't a good idea."

"I don't care."

Legault stopped walking as they reached the top of the dune. Heath saw him reach for his canteen.

"Legault--"

He twisted the cap off, then tilted his head back, closing his eyes, pitching the canteen over his head and neck. The water chugged out at a moderate pace and cascaded down over his body, pouring off his head, streaming down his neck, spreading out across his chest-- then gliding over his belly, finally pooling at his groin and winding down his legs in rivulets. He emptied the canteen completely in foolish abandon, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips as the last of the water snaked over him.

Heath stared, dumbfounded. The man was completely soaked, his clothing clinging to him like a second skin, his hair draping over him in wet purple strands. Legault gave his head a little shake and looked at Heath with an expression of serenity. Heath found his eyes helplessly drawn back down again to his drenched figure, apparently unable to stop staring. Legault seemed to notice.

"What? Good look for me?"

Heath snapped his eyes back up and stammered,

"I can't believe you just did that."

"It felt pretty fantastic."

"We're in the middle of a cursed wasteland and you've _wasted_ your only drinking supply!"

"I didn't say it was smart, I just said it felt good."

Heath made a shrill exasperated noise, then spluttered,

"You _can't_ just-- we're going to-- we should just head back while we still can!"

"No, wait. Give me a little more time. Look, we can see the big ribcage from here. Let's search near there at least."

"You really do have a death wish, don't you?"

Legault drew closer, appealing to him,

"Come on, it isn't that bad. We're still not that far from camp. It should take us only ten minutes to reach the spot and give it a quick scan."

Heath huffed in frustration. There was something maddening about the dripping moron in front of him. Heath was not sure if it was simple jealousy over the man's relative comfort, but it didn't seem to be. It felt more like his mind was slipping into a delirious state; looking at Legault, he could not shake the bizarre notion that he seemed to be the embodiment of a delicious oasis, inexplicably tempting. Heath shook himself, trying to jostle some sense back into his skull. It would do them no good if he descended into heat madness now.

"All right, I-- fine. But that's it. After the ribcage, we head back immediately."

"Aye, commander."

Legault spun about, water flecking off him at the motion, then started with a renewed enthusiasm down the sand dune. Heath followed behind, listening to the little squelch-squelch of Legault's damp boots and trying to ignore the wet cape lofting in his face.

The sprawling ribcage they were approaching seemed to grow in size the closer they drew. Every time Heath felt certain he had grasped the scope of it, they would continue walking and it only seemed to loom larger. Finally, they reached the skeleton's base, gazing upon the rows of massive, curved pillars jutting from the sand. It almost felt like standing beside a manmade structure, like the St. Elimine Church in Bern's largest city. The pair took a moment to simply gaze at it, following its path upward into the angry desert sky. When Heath spoke, it came out unintentionally in a hush, as if he should have some sort of reverence.

"It must have been a dragon. I know of no other creature that size."

Legault murmured,

"That would be my guess as well."

He looked across the landscape and frowned, adding a little, "Hmm."

Heath glanced at him.

"What is it?"

The thief shook his head.

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm just starting to wish some moron didn't waste my entire canteen of water. Bit thirsty now."

Heath sighed.

"I did try to warn you."

"Yes, I'm not very good at listening."

As they walked toward the rows of bones, Heath pulled his canteen from his belt. He hesitated a moment, then waved it cautiously at Legault.

"If you promise not to waste this one . . ."

Legault turned, then grinned at him.

"Are you sure?"

"You'd better take it before I change my mind."

The man accepted the canteen. He then paused, giving him a cheeky look. Heath spoke sternly.

"Legault."

The thief chuckled and took a drink, then handed the canteen back. Heath took a long drink and reattached the canteen to his belt. By the time he looked up, Legault was already wandering onward, carefully scanning along the bases of the bones. Heath was not particularly eager to expend further energy, and instead opted to watch Legault searching about.

"Do you really think we're going to find anything out here?"

Legault scuffed at the sand a little with his boot, and touched one of the rib bones curiously.

"I think it's possible. I've heard stories of the Nabata Desert. There are supposedly a lot of mysteries lost to the sands of time here."

He knocked upon the rib in front of him.

"This lively fellow seems to confirm that idea."

"Well, sure," Heath said, crossing his arms and squinting in the sun,

"I don't doubt that much. But isn't that the key word-- lost? A man could spend a lifetime out here and still be chasing his own tail. Finding anything at all seems like more then a stretch."

"Maybe," Legault answered, still walking past the towering monoliths.

"If it's something that was just accidentally lost, then yes, I'd expect it to be buried under twenty miles of sand by now. If, on the other hand, it was _hidden_ . . ."

The thief reached the lower end of the ribs, carefully studying the space between the two rows.

"It's much more likely it's something recoverable. After all, there's very little point in hiding something if you cannot recover it later, mm?"

Heath frowned.

"I guess. Even still, if this item is hidden, we don't have much indication of where or how. This map looks as though it was drawn by a small child, and I can't imagine you want to dig up every square inch of this place."

Legault tapped each of the bone pillars as he walked past them, almost as if he expected to discern something from them.

"I don't plan on it. But I don't think I have to. People tend to be very predictable when they're choosing places to conceal their ill-gotten gains. Creatures of habit, we are. Even when we try to be sneaky and clever about things, we can't help falling back on old patterns. Besides, there are very few distinguishing landmarks out here, so it narrows down the list of possibilities considerably."

Heath gazed upon the skeleton towering over them.

"I'll give you that. Yet that still doesn't narrow it down enough. If I were to hide something here, I would bury it fairly deep. It would still take us hours to properly search this place."

Legault nodded, working his way back to where Heath stood.

"I agree. But you'd be surprised. People can also be rather lazy. And sometimes, the best hiding spot is . . . in plain sight . . ."

Heath looked to the man. He was gazing curiously at the point just to the right of Heath, which was in the center immediately where the ribcage began. Heath followed his gaze and noticed nothing unusual.

"What is it?"

Legault approached the spot and Heath leaned in, staring hard at the ground. He finally noticed it-- a bronze color that blended in as nearly the same exact shade as the sand, but slightly different. It was very small, poking out of the ground perhaps a centimeter or two, and looked to be metal. Legault crouched down and touched it, then brushed at the sand around it. The bronze color grew a little. He brushed further, and revealed a broad, flat square shape. Heath watched in fascination as Legault revealed more and more of the object, until it became apparent what he was uncovering. It was a small metal chest.

"Dragon's teeth, Legault, how--"

"Don't just stand there, my handsome knight, help a fellow dig."

Heath set his lance to one side and dropped down, using both hands to excavate one side of the chest as Legault worked on the other. The sand was fairly loose and easy to move, although the chest was deeper than it had first appeared. After about ten minutes, they had worked it free from the Nabata's grasp, leaving behind a small gap that quickly seeped in again. The chest was fairly plain and unadorned, battered with age and rusted about the hinges. The only noteworthy feature was a small clasped keyhole, which Legault now eagerly examined. Heath watched impatiently.

"Can you open it?"

Legault laughed as he pulled the ring of lockpicks from his belt.

"Child's play. Awful lot of sand lodged in there, but shouldn't be an issue."

He kneeled before the chest and quickly set to work, prodding the keyhole with one of his smaller picks. Heath became absorbed in watching him, wondering what sort of delicate motions were involved in the procedure. Gradually, Heath became aware of a low, deep rumble, and he glanced up. To his surprise, there was a short, robed figure visible over one of the sand dunes above them, its arms outstretched. In front of it, a dark, shimmering ball of energy was slowly forming in the air, emitting an ominous drone.

Heath snatched up his lance and said,

_"Legault."_

The thief looked up, blinking at the shaman and the ball of magic overhead.

"Oh. Guess I should hurry."

The deep drone became a shrill whine. Heath began to stride toward the shaman, but the glistening sphere of purple-black shifted and seemed to melt, sinking in a series of foul tendrils to the ground. Heath stopped short, knowing he was too late to prevent the attack. The sand seemed to soak up the dark energy, and then the magic started to slither along the ground, almost as if alive. It was always incredibly difficult to predict how this spell moved, and Heath watched tensely. The inky shimmer picked up speed, darting left and right. Heath forced himself to stand still and wait until the last moment, so he could know exactly where he should dodge. It twisted left, right-- then turned again, coming right at him.

Just as Heath was seconds away from leaping aside, the magic halted, then rapidly billowed up from the ground in a cloud of black smoke. As the magic poured out, it made a fluttery, deflating sort of noise and dissipated into the air. The pair stared as the smoke petered out harmlessly in front of them and then finished with a final pitiful ' _pfffft_ '.

Heath looked to Legault. The thief shrugged. From the sand dune above them, a brigand joined the shaman, sloppily waving an axe about, shouting profanities down at them. The shaman started forming a new ball of magic, but seemed to be having difficulty with conjuring it.

"Keep working. I'll take care of these geniuses."

As Heath bounded up the dune, Legault called after him.

"You sure you can handle them?"

It didn't take Heath long to meet the two misfits at the top of the dune. He came to the shaman first, who was still rushing to prepare his next spell, and thrust his lance into him; he bowled over immediately and landed in a heap upon the sand, the flux spell collapsing and dissolving. The brigand roared and charged him with a chipped iron axe. Heath stepped aside easily and shot his lance out, aimed dead-center at the brigand's chest. The lance met fiercely with the brigand's leather armor, but instead of piercing it, it just sort of . . . stopped. The brigand looked puzzled a moment, but then hefted up his axe and swung again at Heath. The wyvern knight blocked it with his lance, then thrust again with his weapon, plowing it forth even harder. The brigand was knocked back by the force, but was still left unharmed, other than looking a little dizzy. Heath faltered, confused. He backed off a few steps. Something was very wrong. Why . . . he glanced at his weapon. His heart sunk as he realized.

It wasn't his regular lance. The one he'd grabbed before he'd followed Legault out here-- gods. He'd been in a bit of a hurry, and he mustn't have been paying much attention. He'd grabbed his training lance by mistake.

A deep rumble made Heath look behind him. It was the shaman, looking tousled and injured, but nowhere near as harmed as he'd first assumed, trying once again to prepare a spell to launch. In front of him, the brigand charged again, axe swinging.

Crap.

Heath scrambled to one side, then paused, uncertain how to proceed. He opted for trying to bluff it, and sprang forward, driving the lance at the brigand, striking hard and repeatedly. He could have aimed for the throat, but it seemed far too cruel to drive a dulled blade down the simple-minded brigand's gullet. The brigand was knocked back by the flurry of strikes and struggled to dodge, but eventually seemed to grow more annoyed than fearful. The rumbling from the shaman had jumped again to a telltale whine, and Heath ducked to avoid a point-blank ball of energy. The dark magic rushed past him, leaving a foul odor of decay in its wake. Moments later, the brigand charged at him again. This was getting ridiculous.

Heath swung his lance handle-first, striking the brigand across his thick skull with the handle. The brigand yawped in pain, looking incredibly insulted. Heath continued to batter at him, and the brigand spat a stream of insults as he tried to fend the knight off. The shaman stepped in, trying to assist his partner, but Heath struck him hard with the lance head, thrusting it into his stomach.  He swung the lance back around and set about jabbing it at the brigand again, who seemed to finally have enough of things. Harried and tormented, the man scrambled away from Heath, tripping over his own feet and sliding down the sand dune. Heath gave chase for a bit, but the brigand didn't turn back, his shaman partner rushing and limping along behind him as quickly as he could follow. Heath watched them retreat for a few moments longer, then turned to make his way back down the sand dune.

In truth, he'd silently been hoping Legault had been too busy with his lockpicking to pay too much attention to the little fracas, but as he walked back to the towering ribcage, it didn't take long to see the thief was standing there with an astonished expression. Heath set his jaw and marched up, pretending not to notice the look of confusion.

"You finally get that open?"

Legault wasn't letting him gloss this over.

"What in the _world_ was that all about?"

"I don't want to discuss it."

"Were you-- were you toying with them or something? I couldn't really tell from back here. Why did you--"

"It isn't important, Legault."

"But you weren't even--"

"I told you, it isn't important."

"Heath!"

The knight shot back tersely,

"I've got the wrong lance, all right? Can we move on?"

"Wrong one? How do you mean?"

Heath grit his teeth and growled at him,

"It's my training lance."

Legault stared a moment at the lance in question, too stunned to react. Then his face split into a wide grin and he gave a muffled snigger. Heath spoke in a warning tone.

"Legault."

The thief's giggly snorts bubbled up into full-fledged laughter. Heath felt his face heating.

"I haven't slept in _four days_ , Legault-- and I--"

Legault flailed, saying in a squeaky voice,

"You-- _oh gods_ \-- that poor brigand, no wonder--"

"It's _not funny_."

That seemed to undo the thief entirely, as he doubled over, collapsing uncontrollably into fits of mirth. Heath marshaled a look of pure poison. The man had an arm wrapped about his stomach and his head buried in one hand, his laughter a rich, silky sound bounding freely through the air. His eyes wrenched shut, he struggled for breath, gasping in desperate pockets in between spasms. Heath had never seen Legault laugh so hard, and there was something almost enthralling about seeing the thief so entirely lost to the throes of joy, but it was equally infuriating. Heath snapped hotly,

_"Shut up."_

Legault reeled, desperately trying to stop and speak, but just as he was about to muster some words, he melted again into raucous laughter. Heath fumed for a few moments as he laughed, then threatened,

"Legault, I'm going to knock you on your ass and leave you out here to die."

The thief squirmed, and with a great deal of effort got out,

"I'm--sorry--it's just--"

Giggles dissolved the rest of his sentence. Heath stepped forward and repeated dangerously,

_"Legault."_

"I'm sorry," he gasped, then lost himself to another fit. Heath shoved at him a little, and the motion pushed the giggling fool off-balance. Legault grabbed the knight's arm in response, tugging him forward slightly and causing Heath to slip on the sand, forcing him to take a few wild steps to regain his footing. They didn't go crashing to the ground, but Heath found himself in very tight quarters with the thief, glancing up to meet a lavender gaze that was bare inches from his. Heath felt a familiar electric thrill bloom in his chest, unbidden. It made little sense; the eyes locked with his were full of mischief and mirth, not the challenge of battle, yet being held in that gaze still dumped heady adrenaline into his system.

"Shut up," Heath repeated, but it didn't come out as harshly as he'd intended-- against his will, it was slowed, softened. The thief still had not released his arm, and his eyes seemed to grip his entire being.

Legault delicately licked his lips, and spoke in a low, feathery tone:

"Make me."

Heath swallowed and felt a shiver run up his spine. He was struck again with the delusion of Legault embodying a desert oasis. Some twisted voice in his head told him to satiate his thirst; he found himself glancing to Legault's mouth and wondering how he might taste.

In a hot panic, Heath pulled back, yanking himself free from the man's light grasp. The thief seemed unfazed, those damned eyes still upon him. Heath felt desperate to escape, stumbling backwards further and stammering out,

"Did you get the chest open or not?"

Legault gave him an enigmatic smile, then lifted a hand with a little flourish, materializing a small, copper-red ring. Heath looked at it briefly and quickly said,

"All right, great. Let's get the hell out of here."

Turning on his heel, Heath immediately started fast-walking in the direction of makeshift camp. The thief fell into step behind him, murmuring something in a tone that was oddly calm and sanguine:

"Suit yourself."

The trip back was not a particularly lengthy journey, because true to Legault's word, they really were not that far from camp. However, the walk still took a heavy toll. With Heath's anxious pace, they pushed through the hot sands at a punishing rate, hardly even pausing for breath. By the time the pair had dragged themselves back into sight of Eliwood's sorry little group, they had all but exhausted what little energy had remained.

It was only when they actually entered camp that it became increasingly obvious there had been some sort of skirmish in their absence. From the looks of it, it was a battle they'd come out on top of-- there were few obvious injuries and everyone appeared relatively calm. However, Eliwood and the other two lords were conspicuously absent, which didn't exactly bode well. As Heath and Legault moved to the shade of a tent, the Caelin knight Kent spotted them and approached, looking relieved.

"It's good to see you both back safely. I was beginning to grow concerned."

Legault replied, entirely drained but still managing to eke out a small amount of sass.

"S'good to be loved. Where's Eliwood gone to?"

The serious knight reported crisply,

"While you were gone, we came across a sage and his wife and rescued them from some stubborn treasure-hungry bandits. They claimed to know of the living legend, so Lords Eliwood and Hector and the Lady Lyndis are with them now. I was charged with watching for your return."

Legault answered blandly, as if he hadn't even heard him.

"That's good, I guess. Hold out your hand."

"I . . . beg pardon?"

"Hold out your hand."

Kent looked at Legault warily, but after a moment complied with the strange request, looking awkward and confused. Legault dropped the tiny magic ring into his hand.

"Hold on to that for me. Little something Eliwood was pining for. Thanks."

Without another word, he drifted over and flopped onto the ground, not even bothering with the nearby chair. Heath turned to Kent and nodded.

"If you'll excuse me, sir?"

"Of course."

Heath shuffled past, intent upon doing exactly the same, but he halted dead in his tracks as a stranger appeared. He was a terrifying-looking tattooed man, wielding an absolutely massive axe. Kent turned, only mildly surprised.

"Ah, you've returned. Are Lords Eliwood and Hector and Lady Lyndis with you?"

The barrel-chested man gazed stolidly at Kent a moment and then spoke in a baritone.

". . . come."

Kent looked confused.

"Do you bring a message from them, then?"

The man nodded slowly.

"I am to bring you to them."

"I see."

Kent glanced over to Heath, looking apologetic. Heath didn't like where this was going.

"If you both are able, I could use the help organizing everyone. We should not delay in joining them."

Heath closed his eyes. Then he sighed, grasping for whatever scraps of effort he had left within him.

The location that the terrifying berserker led them to was the most unlikely of places. It staggered the mind to even try to comprehend it; a massive underground temple, deep beneath the Nabata Desert, flowing with water and sparkling with fine stained glass. Heath did not even try to make sense of it. Whenever mages or magic-users were involved in some capacity, it seemed a fruitless task to try and ascribe common sense to things. Instead, he followed the group down the winding spiral staircases, deep into the marble-walled temple, and out into a grand round plaza, glowing gently with a pale blue light. He was not certain how his feet carried him upon the journey, but when at last they came to a stop, he used his final shred of energy to peel the armor from his body, before sinking down onto the cool, smooth tile floor.

The world around him spun gently, and he slipped into soothing darkness.

There was no telling how long Heath slept, but when he woke, it was at the gentle but urgent prodding of someone. He did not open his eyes, but mumbled a guttural noise of displeasure. The prodding stopped.

"Ah, thank gods. You're alive. Here."

He felt his hands being turned, and something cool and smooth was pressed into them.

"Sit up, if you can, and drink that. I'm sorry to wake you like this, but you really should hydrate. We kind of overdid it out there."

Heath opened his eyes blearily, looking at the goblet of water. It was glass and beautifully elegant, charmingly discordant with the world of the past several days. Heath stirred, then pulled himself into a sitting position, bringing the goblet to his mouth and obeying the command without question.

"Slow sips, slowly now! Don't want to sicken yourself. How are you feeling?"

Heath slowed his hectic gulps, then pulled himself from the goblet and blinked up at the man leaning over him. He looked almost ethereal in the glowing blue light of the temple. Heath tried to articulate a reply.

"All right."

"Any headache or dizziness? Still feel overheated?"

Heath concentrated.

"No . . . no. Just tired."

Legault stood back up to his full height.

"Good. No heat stroke then or anything. You keep drinking that slowly and rest. I won't bother you anymore for now. Take it easy, mm?"

The man withdrew and moved across the plaza to where some others were gathered in quiet conversation. Heath watched him go and then peered around the temple, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. He was feeling better-- that much was certain. As he sipped the water he found his faculties returning, thoughts arranging themselves in a lucid sequence. He recalled the moments just before he'd slipped unconscious, seeing Eliwood and the other lords and being greeted by a couple and a very elderly sage. They offered their hospitalities and invited them to rest during 'preparations'. Heath had not known what the 'preparations' referred to, but he now presumed the old man had been referring to some sort of magic spell. In any case, it was a welcomed and badly needed respite.

Heath sighed, allowing himself to relax. Normally, he would have been up the moment he was able. There was something nice about just sitting there, though, soaking in the coolness of the underground air, letting his aching body remain peacefully still. Heath's thoughts drifted, drawing gentle, lazy paths around speculation on the odd temple. His mind then wandered inevitably to the trip that brought them here and the strange journey with Legault through the smoldering desert. Heath truly didn't know what to make of it. He must have been in worse shape than he'd realized, the desert heat playing tricks with his mind. It was the only reasonable explanation, and the more he pondered the more it made sense. His relationship to Legault had always been fairly intense. Coupled with heat delusion, it was understandable he might confuse those feelings of intensity with other . . . other things.

Mirages. Desert mirages and delusions of the sands. It was a relief knowing that that was all it was. Something about it still niggled at his mind, but Heath tried not to worry about it. Legault had always been vexing to him, unmatched in his ability to disrupt Heath's equilibrium. It came as no surprise that the man continued that unnerving trend. Even now, Heath remained uncertain as to whether it was wise to seek the thief out in any capacity. For some reason, Heath always seemed to come back for more. It was nonsensical, but sense didn't seem to play much of a role in his behavior as of late.

Heath gazed across the plaza, smiling faintly at his own strange musings. In any case, he supposed he still had the time to puzzle things out. Assuming they were able to leave the Nabata Desert safely, Eliwood's group then faced a very long march across Elibe. Bern was many weeks away, flung on the opposite side of the continent. He did not look forward to reaching the country in the slightest, but at least he would not need to face it for quite some time. He imagined it would afford plenty of opportunity to solve any lingering questions and curiosities.

While Heath was lost in thought, the old sage and the lords had stepped to the center of the courtyard. His eye was drawn to them now as he idly wondered what they were discussing. Whatever it was, the old man seemed very intent on explaining something to Eliwood. After a moment, the young red-haired Lord closed his eyes, and the sage reached out, holding a hand over his forehead. Heath frowned, growing more curious. What were they doing? A gentle light began to shine from the sage's hand, and it slowly expanded, enveloping the entire plaza. As the light fell upon him, Heath realized he felt a warmth, followed by a strange, mild vertigo. The warmth began to burn and the vertigo increased, and Heath felt like he was falling inward. The world around them vanished into a bright white light.

When the dazzling light faded from Heath's vision, he was no longer sitting upon the cool tile floors of a vast underground temple. Instead, he found himself within the halls of a humble but lushly-carpeted castle, the evening torches burning merrily in rows along stone pillars. All around him, the rest of Eliwood's group stood looking dazed and confused.  Heath closed his eyes and scrubbed at them, but when he opened them the new castle still remained. He really did hate magic.

In the center of the room, Eliwood was beaming, his eyes full of wonder. To Hector and Lyndis, he said,

"I can't believe it. It worked down to the very room I envisioned. Astonishing!"

Hector commented,

"Lucky thing you weren't picturing raiding the pantry or most of us would be in a wall right now."

Eliwood ignored him and turned to address the group.

"Everyone! Archsage Athos has succeeded in sending us to Castle Pherae. Bern is but a few days' travel, and from there, the Shrine of Seals. Take heart, for our destination is already within our grasp!"

Heath felt a knot of anxiety form in his throat. Pherae? All ready?

Eliwood and the other lords departed to locate the castle inhabitants, while others worked to take stock and confirm all party members, draft animals and supplies had arrived safely. Heath did not move from his position. He continued to gaze across the castle hall, a sense of dread growing in his mind.

It seemed he had very little time after all.


	8. Chapter 8

It felt bizarre to be flying once again in Bern's skies.

All the familiar sights and smells of his homeland-- the sweet, lush valleys, the snow-capped, imposing peaks, the crimson sunsets and the sharp, cold breeze-- so long associated with comfort, were now all a cruel parody of happiness to him. Heath's heart wanted to lift in gladness upon being here, but it simply felt a suffocating weight. The air itself even seemed changed; heavy, disquieting, toxic. No matter how high Heath ascended into the clouds, the feeling followed him. He had hoped for just the smallest measure of peace up here, but found none.

Heath's mind drifted over the past few weeks. The moment Eliwood's group had arrived in Bern, they had been plagued with foul luck, bitter struggles, and undesirable encounters. When they discovered it was essential to their cause to locate the recently-stolen royal treasure, the Fire Emblem, it became a race to recover the gem in time. Almost immediately, they ran afoul with a powerful member of the Black Fang named Linus. The Lords and Legault eventually managed to convince the man to back down, but the reprieve did not last long. They continued to face Black Fang ambushes along their travels, as well as the occasional trouble from Bern soldiers that didn't like the cut of their jib. While they were attempting to travel in Bern under disguise as commoners, the trick didn't fool everyone; little wonder, too, considering how their group stuck out like a sore thumb. They spent their time chasing several false leads over the Fire Emblem's whereabouts, all of them leading to dead ends.

Finally, Eliwood decided they needed to risk heading straight to the castle to find answers. It was a trip Heath had been hoping would never come. The closer they drew to the center of Bern, the more difficult it became for him to avoid detection, and here they were, marching into the very heart of the country. It felt like painting a target upon his chest and wandering out into the middle of a charging army. He would also gladly do without all the reminders of past experiences here, but it seemed inevitable that he would cross paths again with his homeland. And so they reached the mighty Bern castle ensconced in the mountains, the skies darkening to navy blue as night fell upon its fierce visage.

They tried to infiltrate the castle in secrecy. It was a valiant effort. A rider on wyvern-back discovered one of their most vulnerable party members, the young boy Nils, and when Heath came rushing to his aide, he found himself facing an all-too-familiar wyvern Commander.

Heath sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into Hyperion, trying to banish the memories echoing through his mind. By now, it had been a number of days ago, but he could still hear their final conversation. It seemed etched into his mind.

_"...Heath? Is that you? You're still alive?"_

_"Sorry to disappoint you, Commander. It must pain you greatly to see it."_

_"What the devil are you talking about?"_

_"I figured after what you and your friends did to the others, you'd feel sorry you couldn't complete the collection."_

_"Hold your tongue, dog! Those deaths were not my doing. Where do you get such ridiculous drivel?"_

_"I know all about how you serve the Black Fang now. Why did you do it, Commander? Why turn your back on everything you know to be just?"_

_"You know nothing, Heath. You have wild fantasies and shout about them."_

_"I know you stand before me now, turning your lance against me."_

_"Then fight me, and let us be done with it."_

_"I would prefer to convince you of the madness of your ways. What happened to the Commander that I knew? Proud, strong, powerful, righteous?"_

_"I have not changed."_

_"Yet here you are, kidnapping children and terrorizing the countryside for an evil man."_

_"Haven't you ever gotten anything I've taught you through your thick skull!? Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good."_

_"What greater good?!"_

_"I don't have the patience for giving you any further lessons. Let my lance speak instead!"_

The battle had not been . . . natural. There was a dark energy that emanated from Commander Vaida's weapon. When she turned upon him to fight, it had blown him back with terrifying force. He could only assume Nergal had something to do with it. He would have died right then and there, had Eliwood and some of his forces not arrived on the scene. Vaida fell back, letting her new little Black Fang soldiers swarm them and do work for her, watching from a distance. Perhaps she thought they would easily dispose of Eliwood's group. She had been wrong. When they finished with her soldiers, they came for her.

In his heart of hearts, Heath still had hoped he would find a way to convince Vaida to stop. In the very least, he craved answers to his questions. He was able to achieve neither, and Vaida fought to the bitter end. If nothing else, he could say her warrior's spirit was still admirable, despite the twisted path she had settled upon. It took nearly ten of them working together to take her down, and Heath knew that it wasn't simply because of her dark magic-infused lance. When she laid upon the ground, and was drawing her last breaths, Heath came up to her, gazing into her sharp, cold eyes.

_"I am sorry things had to end this way, Commander."_

She swallowed, coughing, and spoke weakly;

_". . . I've . . . failed . . . Bern's last hope . . ."_

Heath shook his head and answered calmly.

_"No, Commander. Nergal has no interest in saving Bern."_

Vaida's eyes rolled shut, but she uttered a last, laborious sentence.

_"Heath . . . you really are . . . as dumb as wyvern feed."_

Then she was gone. Eliwood's group left the castle behind soon after, following a fresh lead on the Fire Emblem. Heath still wasn't sure how to feel about it-- about any of this. There had not been much time to ponder things, as they climbed onwards and upwards, deeper into the wilds of the Bern mountain peaks. As Heath floated above the harsh landscape, he hoped the trail of strife and sorrow they seemed to be blazing would not lead them to complete catastrophe.

Unable to find the peace he'd been seeking, Heath directed his mount to return to camp.

They were tucked away in the crook of a mountain, protected from the elements and from prying eyes to a certain degree. Travel through the Ranshein mountain range was challenging even for wyvern flyers, so it was downright treacherous for those on foot. As such, progress for Eliwood's group had been slow and grueling. Breaking camp here offered an essential moment of rest for the weary army and also allowed them to scout ahead a little. Heath understood the importance of all of these factors, but he couldn't help but wish that they simply pushed ahead. He was eager to put an end to his time spent here. 

Without much left to do after flying, Heath moved to the messtent to poke listlessly at rations and mope to himself at an empty table. For a while, it kept him occupied, but it was a dreary way to pass the time. A few tables over from him, several fighters had been engaged in an extended conversation. Heath eventually started to listen in, but it didn't take long to determine it was nothing but stupid, banal gossip. The knight began to wonder if he should simply return to his tent. While he was in the midst of considering it, a voice murmured gently beside him.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Heath turned.

"Thief," he greeted. Out of force of habit, he tried to sound indifferent, but the fondness managed to sneak into his voice. Legault gave him one of his easy smiles. It seemed a little muted today, but it was still a welcome sight. The man spoke wryly to him,

"You've forgotten my name again, haven't you?"

"You're a very forgettable sort," Heath answered, smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

Legault perched on the edge of Heath's table, letting his legs swing free.

"You're back early. Usually gone at least an hour when you go flying."

Heath leaned back in his seat, sighing a little.

"Yes."

Legault seemed to understand. After a moment, he asked in a quieter tone,

"How are you faring?"

Heath shrugged.

"They are not the most enjoyable of days."

"Yeah. I'd imagine not."

He pushed away his food tray tiredly.

"It will be better when we leave this place."

Legault gazed off into the distance.

"I won't try to argue with you on that."

Heath felt a rant coming on. He folded his arms and started to vent.

"I still don't understand why Eliwood does not consider sending an aerial-only team. There are not many of us, but the time would be halved. Slogging through these mountains at this rate clearly isn't working. We'll surely run out of time before we can even hope to glimpse this supposed base."

Legault did not respond, and Heath glanced to him. He still looked glassy-eyed and distant. After a moment, he shook himself from it.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't catch all of that."

Heath frowned.

"Are you . . . well?"

Legault laughed a little.

"Why? Do I not seem it?"

Heath studied him a moment.

"I'm not sure. You didn't even try to startle me today."

Legault smiled faintly.

"Ah. I suppose I am a bit distracted."

"By what?"

The man hesitated, but divulged,

"Just an unpleasant piece of news I came across this morning."

"This morning? During the Black Fang attack?"

Legault nodded.

"It was over in minutes, just a few stragglers looking for trouble. I heard them talking before the attack, though; bickering over their orders and what would happen if they failed. They were very worried about one of Nergal's creepy morphs."

Heath watched expectantly as Legault paused.

"It, ah . . . it apparently had killed one of their high-ranked members recently, as punishment for failure. They spoke of Linus."

The wyvern knight blinked. Linus was one of the Reed brothers from the original Black Fang, in the days before Nergal's takeover.

"I . . . damn. I'm sorry. I did not realize."

Legault smiled sadly and replied,

"It's all right, my friend. I've not told anyone yet."

Heath felt a wave of guilt as he looked upon Legault. Here he'd been, so busy dwelling on his own discomforts. He'd forgotten how being in Bern was just as dangerous and unpleasant for Legault.

"You did not speak of the Reed brothers often, but I got the impression you were close with them."

Legault drew his legs up and rested his elbows on his knees.

"I was closer with Lloyd than his brother, but yes, we were all quite the merry bunch at one point. They . . . all taught me so much. I'd be nothing without them, really."

He shook his head.

"More than that, they gave me a home. Felt like I belonged. I loved the bastards."

Heath swallowed, uncertain of how to help. He was always terrible at his attempts to be comforting.

"Would you . . . prefer to be alone?"

Legault glanced up at him,

"Oh, I'm all right. It's something I've known was coming for a while now. Not that that makes it any more pleasant, but . . . it's a wonder they've made it even this far, to be honest."

"How do you mean?"

The thief toyed with the lockpicks looped on his belt, for lack of anything else to direct his nervous habits upon.

"The day I left the Black Fang I knew I had lost those two. I tried countless times to convince them that the Fang was a sinking ship, that Nergal and his ilk were bad news for everyone. They wouldn't budge. The Reed brothers are just too loyal to their father. I could have tried a hundred more times to convince them. It would have changed nothing."

He looked to Heath.

"For a brief moment, I thought maybe I'd somehow gotten through to Linus a few days back when he stood down. But he said he was going to go sort things out, and I knew it wouldn't last. And even if he were convinced to go against the Fang . . . well, I knew what would likely happen."

Heath watched as the man pondered for a while.

"I could very easily spend my time now lingering over it. Not sure if it would do any good, though. Time keeps flowing whether we protest its passage or not."

Legault gave him another weak smile.

"Or some nonsense like that. I don't know. We're still in the midst of war, though, and I guess it's better to move on than to get trampled and left behind."

The wyvern knight considered Legault's words, his mind drifting over his own struggles.

"Perhaps you are right."

He felt a deep reluctance to broach the topic, but he pushed through the feeling and said,

"It was not long after I left Bern that I too knew that Commander Vaida was already lost."

Legault gave him a surprised glance.

"You did?"

Heath nodded. He hesitated, but figured he may as well lay it all out now.

"I learned she had joined the Black Fang, running errands of murder. She had once been my mentor. An honorable, admirable leader I tried to emulate. But she chose to betray everything-- her country, her morals, everyone who had been under her command. She was nothing but a blackheart in the end."

Legault seemed to note the vehemence in his tone and asked cautiously,

"Did she not have her reasons for her actions?"

"If she did, she never revealed them. I think she simply turned bitter. She trained me since I was but a boy, yet that day I faced her, she was all too eager to turn on me in hatred."

The thief looked puzzled.

"How very strange. Perhaps she felt forced to, and it was not merely malice?"

Heath raised his brows.

"The last words she spoke to me before dying was that I was as dumb as wyvern feed."

"Ah. Hmm. Well. I must admit, that does . . . sound pretty bitter."

"I have been dwelling upon it still. Your suggestion is wise, though. It is better to move on. I believe I sometimes think too much for my own good."

Legault smiled.

"You do. You're getting better at doing it less, though."

"I'm not so sure about that."

Legault's smile became a little more devious.

"What about your little lance incident in Nabata?"

Heath straightened up in his seat and spluttered,

"That--gods-- _Legault."_

"So you _do_ remember my name," he hummed playfully.

"You _know_ I hadn't been sleeping--"

He paused as he saw Legault bite his lip, trying to quash his grin.

"Don't you start that again."

Legault sniggered. Despite absolutely everything horrible, Heath felt his heart pick up a little-- for a moment, his mind dumped back into desert sands and tempting mirages. He shook himself and was about to defend himself further when a voice interrupted them.

"There you are. Figures you'd both be here. Heath, I need to borrow you a minute."

Heath looked up at the blue-haired Lord.

"I did not realize you were searching for me, sir."

Hector waved it off casually.

"Yeah, just needed to ask you a couple questions. Not here, though. Drop by my tent, shouldn't take too long."

Heath glanced to Legault a moment. The man, still perched upon the table, gave a little shrug.

When Heath located Hector's tent huddled among the row of livingquarters and stepped inside, he could not help but feel an intense curiosity-- and perhaps even a little dread. He had not been singled out before in such a manner, and while he spoke occasionally with Hector, it was usually just to discuss his nightwatches. He could not guess what the young Lord was after.

Hector waved as he entered and said brusquely,

"Have a seat."

The knight obeyed, sitting upon the wooden crate Hector had gestured to.

"I'm not much for small talk, so I hope you don't mind if I just get right down to business."

Heath nodded.

"By all means. I don't care for small talk either."

"Yeah, you didn't seem the sort."

The Lord paced across his tent for a few moments, arms folded behind his back, and paused, gazing absent-mindedly at a map pinned to his tent wall.

"I'd like to know what you think of King Desmond."

Heath studied Hector for signs of further context, but the man stood there, unreadable. Heath took a breath.

"The King is a terrible ruler. The country of Bern has decayed under his reign. Its military is in shambles; its people, neglected and demoralized. He imprisons all those who might oppose him and uses Bern's history of power and prestige as lavatory paper for his own backside."

Hector turned and laughed.

"I appreciate a man who can give the unvarnished truth. Always had a good feeling about you. So can I assume you are not loyal to the crown?"

It still made Heath uncomfortable to speak such blasphemies even though he'd long ago left behind his country and his knighthood; it had been drilled into him since he was the smallest child to honor his liege, and old habits were difficult to shake. He glanced around the tent, almost as if fearing they would be overheard, but spoke with certainty.

"I no longer serve King Desmond and never shall again."

Hector nodded.

"I expected as much. But what of his son, Prince Zephiel?"

Heath crossed his arms.

"It is too soon to know. There are some who are hopeful the Prince will one day change the course of destruction this land is bound to. I cannot help but feel skeptical about that notion, but for Bern's sake, I hope they are right."

"All right. Fair enough. Let me ask you another question, then."

The Lord sat upon the sole chair in the room and leaned on the small table, looking at him.

"What is your opinion of Legault?"

Heath balked.

"M'lord?"

"Yes?"

"I don't understand the connection."

"Never said there was one. I've noticed you've spent a lot of time lately with him, so you should be a decent judge. Just give your unvarnished truth."

Heath considered the question. He realized, with some anxiety, it wasn't easy to formulate an answer. He struggled as Hector waited impatiently. Too rushed to compose more cautiously, words spilled forth unchecked.

"He is easy to underestimate but is frightfully skilled and unerringly perceptive. He carries himself with smooth, iced grace yet is fire just beneath the surface. He should be cynical, self-interested, cowardly, treacherous. Instead I have learned he holds honor close to his heart. He subverts my every expectation."

Hector raised his brows.

"Hmm. Colorful. And not really what I'd figured."

Heath looked away and muttered,

"In what way, sir?"

The Lord tilted his chair and answered airily,

"Never liked the guy. Always creeped me out. Plus, Black Fang and all. I just don't trust him. But you think he's trustworthy, eh?"

Heath paused, again to consider the question sincerely.

"I do."

Hector leaned forward, suddenly a lot more somber.

"You stand by that?"

"Yes."

The Lord rested his chin in a hand.

"And if we were to, say, give Legault an important mission . . . do you think he'd remain loyal to us? Or would he possibly be swayed by old connections?"

Heath was about to reply, but he narrowed his eyes, no longer comfortable answering on Legault's behalf.

"What's this all about, sir?"

Hector gazed at him a moment, then rose from his seat, pacing the tent again.

"We need someone to help us retrieve the Fire Emblem."

The wyvern knight turned to look at him, startled.

"You've discovered its location?"

Hector gave a small nod.

"Thanks to Lyn, we've finally tracked it down to the Black Fang's headquarters. Got a pretty good idea of exactly where on base it's being hidden, too. Only problem is, their units outnumber ours by a pretty wide margin."

Hector turned and gesticulated as he spoke,

"Now, I'd just as soon get in there and start cracking skulls, but Eliwood . . . you know how he is. He's hoping for a safer approach. He thinks a covert operation might do the trick."

Heath murmured in realization,

"That's why you want Legault."

"Eliwood figured there's no one better than a Black Fang thief to steal something from the Black Fang. He doesn't know much about this base, but he knows the people, the system. We could get this whole thing cleared up and be back in time for tea, if you're both willing to volunteer."

"Both of us, m'lord?"

 Hector grinned at him.

"Well, yeah. I wasn't asking where your loyalties fall just for fun. Besides, you two work well together, right?"

"I . . . yes, sir."

"It's a simple operation. The location is remote and not easily traversable by foot, so you'd be transport and lookout. Should be a familiar role to you. Drop your thief off, watch for trouble. Get in, get out, nice clean job."

Heath frowned.

"What if something goes wrong?"

The Lord paced across his tent again.

"Of course if something _does_ go wrong, we can attempt to mount a rescue. But hopefully it won't come to that, if this Legault's as skilled a thief as he's supposed to be. In any case, it's your choice. I'll be talking to your friend next and giving him the same choice."

Heath pondered for a moment. When he looked back up to Hector, he gave him a curt nod.

"If he agrees, then I shall accompany him."


	9. Chapter 9

The air was a fierce sea of sleet, beating down upon them with an almost malicious intent. Violent winds threatened to push Hyperion off-course, and between the dark skies and swirling storm clouds, Heath was almost completely disoriented. It was not unheard of for even the most seasoned of wyvern riders to perish at the peaks of the Ranshein mountains, if they were especially unlucky or especially cocky. Fortunately, Heath was a cautious and experienced flier, as was Hyperion. That meant all they needed was luck.

There was an unnerving period of time where Heath got turned around and needed to circle a few times and recount the peaks they had already passed. With each circle they increased their chances of being spotted, and by the third pass Heath had bit a hole in his lip, anxious and focused, struggling to squint through the sheets of snow-- but he felt confident now of his direction. Coaxing a reluctant Hyperion, they pitched down toward a dense grove of evergreen trees, doing battle with the updrafts and fighting to avoid dashing against the branches and rocks. It took some pretty last-second maneuvers, but they squeezed through the canopy of trees and glided into a deep snowbank.

On the ground, the woods helped buffer against the savage storm, but the winds still howled through the trees and snow still fell in steady waves. Heath took a moment to ensure he still had his bearings, then turned and looked over his shoulder. Legault had been glued to him the entirety of the trip, and it seemed clear he hadn't even realized they'd landed. Heath smiled faintly in sympathy; it had been a rough ride by anyone's standards. He gently touched the man's arm.

"We're here."

Slowly, he felt the thief's warm frame unwrap from his back, but he received no reply. Heath added,

"Are you all right?"

After a moment, the thief's voice came roughly from behind him.

"I am now that we're on the ground."

Heath dismounted, then turned to help Legault down, but the thief had already slid down into the snowbank as well. He was decidedly shaken, but seemed to be bearing it with good enough humor. With light sarcasm, he said,

"Say, you want to just try walking on the return trip?"

Heath smiled a little. He teased,

"If you don't care for my transport, I could always leave you behind."

"Well, now, I didn't say I wasn't appreciative."

After securing Hyperion under the cover of a large pine, the pair set out. They moved carefully, slowing their approach the deeper they passed through the woods. The fresh snow softened their footfalls and the trees were quite dense, so there was not too much reason for concern; however, Hector had impressed upon them the need to be particularly wary. There was very little they knew about the Black Fang headquarters beyond the limited reconnaissance from the lords, and they needed to be prepared for anything.

When they reached the treeline, they cautiously peeked out from between the trees and finally gazed upon the facility with their own eyes. Heath was surprised at how barren it looked. It seemed little more than a collection of incredibly plain, flat-roofed stone buildings scattered in the clearing at the very peak of the mountain. The buildings were all half-submerged in snow, slick with ice and very squat, making them almost seem like a natural part of the landscape, barely separable from the jagged rocks at times. It was actually difficult to tell how many buildings there were, but there were at least ten or so, some of them quite small while others were rather extended. All around them, the land was utterly and eerily silent.

Heath leaned toward his companion and whispered.

"No guards, no anything. I don't like it."

"Well," Legault murmured,

"This is as remote as you can get. Little need for guards up here."

Heath was about to reply but stopped as a door opened from one of the buildings. A few lance men exited and walked off through the snow, vanishing over the curve of the mountain to another part of the compound. When they'd left Heath continued,

"Still. It feels strange to me. Hector said their numbers rival ours ten to one. Where is everyone?"

"Probably just indoors, enjoying a cozy hot cocoa."

Heath frowned at him.

"Somehow I doubt that."

Legault gestured to one of the central buildings.

"That must be the one our lord friends were describing for us. I can get at it around the right-hand side, behind that embankment, no trouble."

"Should you not wait for cover of darkness?"

Legault shook his head.

"It's only going to get colder and riskier the longer we wait."

Heath glanced about the grove of trees.

"Very well. I can set up watch from the hill. I should see most of the area from there. Does that work as a rendezvous point for you?"

Legault nodded, readjusting and tightening his bandana.

"Sounds good. Expect me back in an hour. If I'm not back in two, assume the worst."

"Just be quick about things. I'll be waiting for you."

Legault gave him a half-smile.

"Believe me, I'm keen on being quick. Just be sure to get back to camp if things go belly-up, all right?"

Heath set his jaw but didn't reply. The thief eyed him.

"I notice you're not agreeing."

Heath repeated,

"Just be quick about things."

Legault leveled a serious gaze upon him.

"Look, I hate to be a badger, but you know what Hector said. If something happens to either one of us, the other needs to get back and report to camp immediately. No rescues, no insane heroics. The sun should set in about two hours. When that happens, don't wait up, Heath. I mean that."

The knight clutched the lance in his hand and answered stubbornly,

"Quit wasting time and get going already."

Legault chuckled.

"All right, have it your way. I'll dispense with the dramatic farewells. In that case, see you soon."

The thief turned without another word and stepped out into the open snow, already moving toward the Black Fang compound. Heath reacted on impulse, his voice coming in a panicked rush.

"Legault, wait."

The man paused, half-twisting his torso to look back at him.

"Mmm?"

Heath opened his mouth to speak, but he hadn't a clue what to say. Too many thoughts were twisted and tangled.  After a few moments, he finally spoke.

"Just . . . be careful."

Legault flashed him a grin, looking genuinely pleased.

"Love you too."

At that, he turned and slipped out from between the trees. Heath watched as he darted across the snow, keeping low and moving remarkably fast. He reached the building with impressive efficiency and paused in front of the heavy iron doors to pick the lock before vanishing like a shadow inside. Heath stared for a while at the spot he'd vanished from, waiting to see if anything seemed amiss. The area remained silent and still, though; it seemed he'd made a clean entry.

Heath situated himself upon the small hill nearby in the trees. He settled in and prepared himself for the wait.

The stark, lonely mountain peak did not make for engaging viewing. Black Fang members moved to and fro from buildings on occasion, mostly what looked to be low-ranking soldiers. However, activity remained fairly subdued. The knight spent some time carefully studying the buildings, learning the layout and trying to speculate on their purposes, but there was not much to be gleaned from the vague shapes half-buried in the snow. He supposed some of the smaller buildings were for storage purposes, and some rows in the back that he thought might be barracks, but there really was no telling for sure. He eventually abandoned his speculation and concentrated on keeping a watchful eye for any changes.

The snow continued to fall, piling upon the ground. What little sunlight had been filtering through the thick clouds was slowly bleeding away into blackness. Heath felt the tug of temptation to start down a dangerous train of thought. It would start with wondering what kind of progress Legault was making, then speculating on the sorts of things that might impede his progress. The kinds of things that could go awry. From there it was easy to start imagining scenarios, and scenarios could be cruelly specific. A snapped neck, an eviscerated gut, a battered body left out in the snow . . .

Heath felt his grip involuntarily tighten about his lance. He pushed away his thoughts. He was to focus on monitoring the area. Nothing more. His duty was simple and clear, and it would have his full attention. Nothing would sway him.

The knight remained at his sentry and watched.

The cold was starting to seep through Heath's layers of clothing, and he brushed the light dusting of ice from his hair. Activity around the compound gradually increased. Some cavaliers passed by and dispersed. A gaggle of shamans gathered around one of the back buildings. A number of fighters came over the curve of the mountain, and seemed to start running some drills. Heath carefully monitored each and every detail. Eventually, the compound was bustling with Black Fang members. And yet there still was no sign of the elusive thief.

Time was an easy thing for the mind to distort. Heath sincerely could not tell how long it had been, as he knew minutes could seem to stretch into eons. Certainly the sky was growing ever-darker, but it was easy to tell himself that a few stray rays remained buried somewhere behind the clouds. Who was to say, really? He could still see his own hands in front of his eyes; clearly some sort of light remained. Certainly it had felt like ages, but how could he really trust his own judgment?

It was only when Heath saw a member of the Black Fang begin to light the torches on the side of the buildings that it truly hit him. The last of the day's light had long ago died behind the clouds, and the added chill of nightfall was clinging to his skin. He was out of time.

Heath stared at the Black Fang compound.

There was little he could do. He would be one man against an army. He knew that.

Heath's feet were already carrying him off the hill he'd been perched upon. It wasn't even a question in his mind, not really-- there was only one course. He started out on the path Legault had taken across the snow.

In his eagerness to finally act, Heath found it extremely difficult to move slowly and cautiously, but he forced himself to keep low and approach with care. He tried to retrace the exact same route Legault had taken, ducking behind the snow embankment and creeping along toward the central building. There was utterly no plan in his mind, only a sheer drive to act. It was painstaking crawling along the iced ground, but Heath managed to reach the building undetected. Giving the iron handles a gentle testing tug, he found they were locked, as expected. No doubt the Black Fang members that had exited the building after Legault had locked it behind them. Heath flicked his eyes around the dark compound, then sized up the doors a moment, pondering. They looked incredibly sturdy. He probably couldn't just . . .

Heath dove down behind a rock as he heard the crunch of approaching footsteps. He waited tensely, the footfalls drawing nearer, but then they began to depart. Very cautiously, he peeked over the rock, spying a lone archer crossing the compound. The man held his bow in a relaxed grip, his head ducked down against the cold breeze as he pushed through the thick snow. As Heath watched him, an idea slowly formed in his mind.

Following the archer was decidedly awkward. Heath struggled to keep his distance and scramble from one source of cover to the next, but it felt almost comical how graceless the task was. Still, the archer continued to walk along the outer edge of the compound, dragging his bow along lazily. It seemed Heath was blessed with a particularly unwary target. It helped that the dim flicker of light from torches was only reaching them distantly out here, and the gentle snowfall continued to muffle the landscape. Heath drew ever closer as he followed the archer, closing the space between them.

It was when the solitary archer began to step through some of the pine trees that were encroaching on the compound's clearing that the time seemed especially golden. Heath rushed ahead keenly, halting just before a large boulder, and peeked out. Yes! It was perfect. The archer was picking his way through the young pines, still blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Heath leaned against the boulder, tracing the route he was about to take with his eye-- hop over that fallen log and clear the embankment, then across those trees. He'll--

Heath scraped at the boulder with his fingers as he felt the world shifting under his feet, but the pile of snow gave away far, far too quickly for him to react in time. His legs swung out and an entire sheet of fresh snow slid downward, crashing into the trees below and taking Heath along with it. The lone archer spun about in surprise, then yelped, snow piling upon him in a miniature avalanche.

After several moments, the rocks and bits of snow finished tumbling down. Heath sat upon the ground, still clinging to his lance, blinking. A few feet away, the archer was half-submerged in snow, about waist-deep, staring at him with a pair of wide eyes. Heath cleared his throat.

"Uh. Member of the Black Fang. Cooperate and you will be spared."

"HELP!"

"That-- damn it. That isn't cooperating."

"Cedric, Seamus-- anybody! _Intruder! There's an intruder!_ HEL-- _arghhgf!"_

Heath sprang up and grabbed the archer to silence him, cutting his cries short. The archer writhed about and squealed but Heath chokeheld him and the small man quickly passed out. Humanely setting him down, he hastily started to pat down his pockets. Unfortunately there was not enough of a chance to search him, as shouts and the sounds of scuffling drew rapidly near. Appearing at the treeline above him was the gaggle of the fighters that had been running drills. They glared down with craggy, ugly faces, and Heath counted about six or so. One of them waved his weapon and cried:

"GET 'IM!"

Heath swung his lance about and charged as the axe-wielders poured down upon him. He was outnumbered, but the fighters were clumsy and inexperienced. Heath plowed into several with his lance, kicking another in the jaw and then swinging the lance in a broad arc to slice into a fifth. The fighters screamed bloody murder, spraying snow as they flung their axes about, but Heath's lance found its mark true and sure. Several times, the axe-wielders attempted to pile upon him all at once, hoping to overwhelm him, but Heath rebuffed their blows and cut them down. It was a quick and brutal few minutes but the knight immerged victorious; scraped, scuffed, panting, but otherwise fine.

When the last of the fighters fell, Heath didn't waste time dropping down and searching each of them. The fighters had little in the way of pockets, and only had a few pouches and things hanging from their belts. All of the pouches contained sparing and useless things-- vulneries, silver pieces, half a bit of dried jerky in one pouch. Heath tossed it all aside in disgust and glanced around in desperation. That was it? Surely _one_ of these people had to have one. His eye fell upon the archer, still passed out on the snow. Heath sprang up and quickly resumed his search of the fallen man. His pouches too had vials of vulneries and a little money, but nothing else of note. Heath clawed at the man's vest, disbelieving that he'd wasted all this time for naught, when his hand met with an inner-pocket. There was a small bit of metal tucked inside. Heath retrieved it.

He beamed triumphantly. It was a key. He'd found one.

Pausing no further, Heath climbed back up the hilly piles of snow to the treeline and gazed out across the darkened clearing. The clouds were starting to break in places, and a gibbous moon peeked out and spilled pale shafts of light onto the snow. Heath stared hard. Black Fang members went about their duties, but no others looked to be drawn to his location. Despite all the scrambling and the shouting, they must have been too distant to be noticed by anyone else. Cautiously, Heath crept forth, making his way to some cover situated several yards out. He stopped here again to survey the compound, making absolute certain he hadn't drawn attention to himself. But the grounds remained calm.

Heath smiled softly, hope flitting through him. He murmured quietly,

"Hold on, Legault. On my way."

Heath crouched, about to creep back out, but something made him stop. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

It was a very high-pitched sound, and he wasn't sure at first if he was even hearing it. He held his breath and stood still. Over the wind, he could hear it-- thin, so high-pitched it barely registered at first, but growing stronger. Louder. It was a whistle.

He knew that sound. It was something he often heard when he was in battle atop Hyperion. It was the whistle of wind through wings. In particular, when taking a wyvern into a dive.

Heath turned to gaze skyward, praying it was only the storm and the snow, but what he saw made his heart sink. Black creatures against the black night, their shadowy frames swung a broad arc across the path of the moon, gathering speed, then pointed like obsidian arrows in his direction. They dove in unison; three creatures on wings of death, rushing to meet him like reapers. They came from the direction of the trees, so Heath had absolutely nowhere to go but across the compound. He knew how hopeless the situation was, and what would happen if they caught him.

He broke into an open run.

Things became a surreal blur for a while. He knew that he didn't get far before the sound of wings was screaming in his ears and he felt hot breath at his back. Javelins rained from the sky, piercing deep into the earth around him, and his eyes stung from the snow sprayed into his face. He felt like he was trying to dodge lightning, bounding about wildly, unable to predict where the strikes would fall next. He was running blindly, without any clue as to where to even go. The flat stone buildings were all around, but where--

Heath tripped hard over an outcropping of rocks and went painfully crashing down, sliding for some distance. To his horror, his lance was lost in the fall, and he turned, briefly considering trying to retrieve it, but it was far too late for that.  A pair of clawed wings blotted out the sky and jaws snapped at him. Heath painfully clamored on hands and knees, keeping just out of reach, then slid down along a small hill. The wyvern lord yanked upon his reins and the wyvern screamed, whipping its head around and charging forward. Heath somehow made it back to his feet and was running again, but all three wyverns were literally at his heels. A fighter standing in the compound moved to intercept him, and he could hear shouting all around him of Black Fang. He skidded and took off to the right away from the fighter, rushing right into a group of mages.

Utterly bewildered by his sudden charge, the group of robed mages didn't get a chance to prepare any sort of magic spell. Heath savagely shoved through them, the resulting chaos as the wyvern lords crashed into the crowd acting as a temporary shield. It was just enough to buy Heath a couple extra moments. He used the time to duck between a couple of the larger buildings, jogging along their exterior and hoping to find a door. He passed by a series of tightly-boarded windows but it appeared the door would be on the far side of the building. He realized he probably needed to circle around once he reached the end, and he pushed his exhausted limbs as hard as he could to reach it.

However, as he came upon the end, he found that the two buildings simply joined together. Heath slowed his breakneck speed and skidded to a halt. He stared in disbelief, touching the wall before him.

He'd gone down a dead end.

He turned and looked down the corridor, unsurprised to find the wyvern riders had caught up by now and were on the other end. He briefly sized up the stone wall, but it was far too high for him to climb up, and the icy, smooth masonry didn't offer any handholds. He cursed.

The trio of wyverns were walking down the corridor, ambling almost casually, knowing he was perfectly trapped.

Accepting the reality of the situation, Heath turned to face his pursuers.

The wyvern riders sat astride the massive, vicious breed of wyverns reserved for the higher-ranking officers. They had jet-black scales and beady little eyes that burned like cinders, with canines that passed their jaws even when their mouths were closed. The wyvern lords were dressed in glinting armor and each carried ornate silver lances, although the leader of the trio looked the most ornate and impressive. He rode ahead with a self-satisfied smile and gazed down upon Heath with an air of superiority.

"Well, well," the man spoke, as his two colleagues arrived at either side of him.

"The infamous turncoat Heath of Bern. There's quite a bounty on your head, you know."

Heath crossed his arms and stared silently at them. The man continued.

"500 thousand gold, in fact. Seems a bit excessive, considering how simple a task it was. You just sort of . . . walked right to us, didn't you?"

Heath kept silent. The leader chuckled.

"Not that I'm complaining. You were even kind enough to deliver yourself alive and well. I should get something extra for that. They're hoping for a public execution, you see. The public does dearly love to see traitors burn."

Heath answered calmly.

"You'll have to kill me if you want me."

The man smiled.

"That's all right. I think I'd prefer that to a reward. Everyone wins that way: I get to have some fun, and the public still gets their final little scapegoat."

Heath's blank mask of an expression faltered.

"You . . . know the charges were falsified?"

The man grinned even wider.

"Of course. Courtesy of your Commander Vaida. She was quite informative about all of you when she joined the Fang."

Heath balled his fists, aching for the lance that had been lost in the snow.

"I'm sorry, does that trouble you? Are you not on good terms with your Commander anymore? Or, mmm-- your late Commander, from what I hear now."

Heath replied in a low, quiet voice.

"Hold your tongue or I shall tear it from your mouth, dog."

The man laughed.

"You're a hotheaded one. I can appreciate that. Not at all like your friends. They were a bit pitiful, to be honest. You should be more fun to kill."

Heath stared and hissed,

_"You--"_

The wyvern lord waited a moment.

"Yes? Nothing more to say?"

Heath stood shaking but remained silent. The leader shook his head.

"I don't blame you. They were quite pathetic, crawling to the Black Fang to beg for their positions back. Just like their intrepid commander, eh? So sentimental over saving a few villagers one moment but the next all too happy to do anything to save their own skins. Funny how that works."

The man laughed.

"Then the fools refused to tie up their loose ends for us. They would have been spared otherwise. Lucky for you, though, I suppose. Not that it matters now."

Heath spat,

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Just that your dear friends were as useless at serving the Fang as they were at serving their own countrymen."

The lone wyvern knight set his jaw.

"If you're going to kill me, just be done with it."

The leader barked a laugh.

"What, and cut short the joy of tormenting you? Don't you wish to hear about the last moments of your wingmates? Are you not curious if they begged for their lives?"

"Nothing you say has any meaning to me."

"They did. And what's more, your commander even begged for their pitiful lives. She should have died along with them then and there, to be honest. Such a weakling-- always failing and defying our dark lord's commands. But it all worked out in the end, didn't it? Say, here's an idea."

The wyvern lord gave his reins a little flick, his wyvern stepped forward. He peered down at Heath.

"How'd you like to join the Black Fang?"

Heath spluttered at him,

"What?!"

 The leader grinned.

"I was hoping that would bring that flash of hope to your eyes. You're just like your cowardly friends. Beg for your life, Heath. Beg, and I might be moved to offer the Fang's protection to you."

Heath's vision hazed over in a rage and he screamed, charging blindly at the wyvern lord. The man swung his lance around and struck Heath with the handle across the skull, tumbling him backwards into the ground. The lord cackled gleefully.

"I knew you'd be fun. I'll be sure to gut you slowly."

Heath watched as the lance lifted into the air above him, glinting in the moonlight; but the silvery light bouncing off it shifted and grew warmer, brighter. Like a flickering flame. Heath blinked, realizing it wasn't an illusion, the dim corridor spilling over in new light. He saw the eyes of the wyvern lords lift up, above him-- and things seemed to slip into slow motion. A ball of light went spinning into the alleyway, rushing directly into the wyverns, and a cry filled the air. Heath tilted his head back at the noise: a figure was leaping from the top of the wall. His cape fluttered in the breeze, and he held a torch aloft, diving with a primal scream, lavender hair flying.

The scene became twisted chaos. Legault charged headlong into the trio of wyverns, brandishing the torch furiously, spinning and whipping the flames about. The great leathery beasts screamed, rearing up and beating their massive wings, crashing into the walls and bucking their riders about. Heath was dumbfounded, but mercifully, some sort of primal instinct took control, and he scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to avoid getting trampled. A voice rose out of the din:

_"I'VE GOT THIS! RUN!"_

Heath blinked his dazzled vision as his companion drove the flames at the wyvern's maws, frenzying them into a panic. Then the knight lurched forward, snatching a lance off the ground one of the riders had dropped. He shouted back,

_"LIKE HELL!"_

Heath drove into the wyvern lord nearest to him, who was being tossed around by his angry mount. The force of the leaping dragon yanked Heath along by the lance and sent him hard into the wall, but he pulled the lance out and struck again. He locked lances with the lord, the prongs interlacing, and they wrestled a moment before Heath was shoved back. The knight leapt to dodge a flailing wyvern tail and looked for another window to attack, but it was difficult to find one among all the furious scales and blades. A javelin went sailing past his head but was fairly far off its mark, and Heath leapt forward to assail its owner. The wyvern lord unexpectedly had another javelin at the ready, digging it into Heath's arm and yanking back quick to stab at him again; but before he got the chance, his wyvern roared and reared, being driven back by Legault's torch. Heath was ready for him when the wyvern landed back on all fours, and he sent his lance deep into the rider's chest. He wrenched the weapon out he shouted for Legault to keep at it, as the furious wyvern was snapping at him again, but instead of a reply he heard a cry of pain.

Battering the snout of the beast away and tripping backwards, Heath found that the leader had buried his lance into Legault's shoulder and was yanking him along like a ragdoll. The knight shouted furiously and leapt at the leader, but before his steel could meet with the man, he was knocked back forcefully by reptilian claws. Colliding with the back wall, Heath saw white lights dance in his vision a moment as his head struck the masonry. When his vision returned, it brought him the sight of the leader twisting and driving the lance deeper into Legault's shoulder, pinning him helplessly. Heath was desperate to intervene, but the wyvern dogging him was mindlessly persistent. The knight battled to swipe away the jaws snapping at him but couldn't get around, and was forced to watch as the wyvern leader yanked his lance out from Legault, then whipped it sideways, cracking violently against Legault and sending him sliding across the ground, discarding him like rubble. Heath felt his blood boil over. With an enormous lash of strength, he sent the lance deep into the dragon's throat, the creature giving demonic screams as he did so. The creature spasmed awfully and then, after several moments, fell still. Without hesitation, Heath pulled himself up upon the wyvern's head and clawed up it as if scaling some mountain, all one smooth, rapid, fevered motion.

When he reached the wyvern's rider, the leader almost looked terrified by his fury. Heath reached out and grabbed at the leader's lance, and they wrestled wildly for control of the weapon. The leader's grip began to slip and Heath could see the panic in his eye. Just as he was about to yank the weapon free, an intense pain shot into his side. He cried out and twisted his head around-- the other wyvern rider had his lance wedged into him, beneath his chest plates. He still had both hands gripping the leader's lance tightly, but sandwiched between the two foes, there was not much he could do. The leader shouted to his comrade;

"Kill him!"

The rider yanked the lance out of Heath and prepared to strike again, aiming for Heath's throat. Still with his death grip on the leader's lance, Heath dropped down, dragging the man with him. With a painful sideways lurch, he finally ripped the lance free, and with a second motion, struck the leader and sent him crashing down off the wyvern. Struggling to recover his footing, Heath saw the final wyvern rider's lance bearing down on him. He tried to get out of the way, but there wasn't quite enough time. The lance glanced off his armor's neck guard, then yanked back, piercing again at him-- but the aim suddenly bounced away crazily, and a wyvern roar shook and rattled his skull. Enormous wings filled Heath's vision, and he rolled out of the way, sliding down off his perch as the beasts crashed together with horrific force. The world was a winding confusion of lances, claws, fire and wrath, but Heath managed to tumble down without too much injury and make contact with the ground. Dazed, the knight tried to disentangle himself from the mess, sliding along cold iced ground. He rushed to recapture some semblance of understanding of what had just happened. Before he was able to climb to his feet, a gloved hand appeared before him. Heath stared a moment, and then took it.

Legault hauled him back to his feet, although he immediately wobbled and hissed in pain as soon as he'd brought Heath up. The knight automatically moved to stop him from toppling over, careful not to grab at the enormous hole gouged into his shoulder.

"--Legault--"

"I'm all right, it's all right. _Aah_ , that's smarts, though."

Heath turned quickly to survey the scene behind them. The frenzied wyvern had apparently struck into its dead brother-- and the wall-- forcefully enough to have knocked it out, and crushed the final wyvern rider along with it. A torch burned in the center of the fallen beasts. Obviously it had been what Legault had flung to prevent Heath's untimely demise. Further down the corridor, the third wyvern still lived, but with his mount and his brothers dead, the panicked creature was retreating.

Heath turned back to Legault.

"Are you sure you're--"

"--yeah, I'm fine."

A sound caught Heath's attention, and he shot Legault a look. He commanded,

"Wait."

Then he bounded forward, silver lance in tow. Climbing over the bodies of the wyverns, he found the leader upon the ground, stirring. Heath immediately raised his lance, alarmed, but it quickly became clear the man didn't have much fight in him at the moment. He was crumpled in an unnatural position, a gash on his head, and it took him a moment to lift his head up and notice the knight standing over him. When he did, a gross smile cracked across his bloodied face. He spoke in a weak, dry voice.

"Here for your revenge?"

Heath narrowed his eyes and stared down at the man. The leader tried to laugh, although it sounded more like a wheeze.

"Go ahead," he invited.

"I'm sure it will bring you great joy to snuff me out. Now's your chance."

The knight hesitated, lance still held at the ready, tip poised.

He stared coldly at the helpless man.

He moved, a sudden jerk of the lance, swinging.

The handle struck the man's head and knocked him unconscious. Heath scowled down at him.

"Some of us still have our morals."

When Heath turned, he saw the thief had climbed over and stood nearby.

"We'd better get moving. They're going to eventually figure out these wyvern lords aren't still just playing with us."

Heath nodded, and the two hastily started to make their way out of the corridor. They hadn't gone more than a few steps when Legault stumbled. Heath immediately reacted, grabbing him before he could crumple into the ground.

"Legault--"

"Damnit. Sorry."

"I knew you weren't all right."

 "I'm just a little dizzy. It'll be fine. Keep going."

Without another word, Heath slung an arm about Legault and helped to haul him along, and the two snuck back down the corridor. Gazing out at the base from the mouth of the alley, the compound seemed in quite an agitated state, men rushing about, people barking orders. Heath was about to launch into a run, but Legault's voice came at his ear urgently:

"Wait, go left."

"What? There are about twenty men that direction."

"Just go along the outer edge of that building. Trust me, it'll get us somewhere safer than out in the open."

Heath regarded the group warily a moment, but he was more than happy to follow advice, considering he had no clue where to go. Once it seemed like a good time, he went into a sprint, and the pair scrambled awkwardly across the compound, trying to stick to the darkest points that fell out of the torchlights. They made some decent progress before finally being spotted. A cascade of shouting and footsteps announced they were being pursued, but Legault directed them around several smaller buildings toward the back of the compound. When they passed a particular one, he told Heath to stop and head to it.

Heath guided them to the front of the little building, and helped Legault crouch down before the door. The thief grabbed at his ring of lockpicks and started poking at the lock, wincing as he tried to use both hands. Heath shot urgent looks behind them as the shouting and the noises drew nearer.

"Legault, we don't have a lot of time. . ."

Legault muttered a string of very unclean words under his breath as he tried to lockpick despite the pain. Heath suddenly remembered-- of course, how could he be so stupid?-- and patted at his own clothing, struggling a moment and then managing to produce the desired item, buried in his pouch.

"Here, try this."

He pushed the key into Legault's hand, and the thief gave him a puzzled look.

"Where did you . . ."

"Just go!"

The door opened and the two hurried inside a musty, dim space that looked as though it was mainly for storage. Heath rapidly guided Legault across the room and helped seat him upon a crate, then immediately set about pushing boxes and other objects to prop up against the door. He continued piling objects until they were stacked quite high and deep, and eventually stopped, satisfied with the arrangement.

They then waited and listened to the noises outside, but they didn't seem to draw any nearer. After a few minutes, Legault spoke in a quiet voice.

"I think we might be good for the moment. Not long, mind you, but for a few minutes anyway."

Heath turned away from the door and looked at Legault in the faint light. The thief was still slumped on a crate-- fairly alert, but very disheveled, with deep patches of red coating his ragged cape. Heath crossed his arms, studying him further, until Legault returned his gaze. Then he spoke to the thief:

"You incredible moron."

Legault smiled crookedly at him.

"Good to see you too."

Heath gestured incredulously.

"What happened to being _stealthy?_ I can't believe you just charged in there like that."

The man chuckled a little, which looked like it was painful.

"Even I can't do much good sneaking up on three mounted wyvern lords. They would have swatted me like a fly ages before I'd get the chance to even tickle them with my dagger."

"So instead you rushed all three directly with just a torch?!"

Legault looked a little sheepish.

"Well, I remember you telling me wyverns feared fire."

Heath sputtered,

"But that doesn't-- that still--"

"Look, I didn't spend a lot of time mulling it over. I just knew I had to get you out of there. I don't know, maybe you're rubbing off on me."

Heath gave a short laugh.

"Even I'm not that brash."

"I didn't exactly have many options! And I-- _ah_ \--"

The thief stopped short as a gesture he'd been making sent a new spasm of pain through him. Heath strode forward quickly and reached out, gingerly taking the bundle of bloodied cape in his hands. He spoke a little more gently,

"Hold still. Let me see how bad it is."

As he unwrapped the bundle of fabric, he continued,

"You did have the option of skipping the idiotic heroics like Hector ordered."

"Oh, sure. And leave you to those bastards? _Nng_ \-- easy."

Heath had peeled away the cloth to see the extent of the wound, which was far worse than he had realized. He felt his throat tighten at the sight.

"Gods, Legault. This is pretty bad."

"I have a vulnerary with me. I'll just use that."

Not giving him the chance to try it himself, Heath dug into the satchel hanging off Legault's belt, fishing around until he found the vial. He shook the bottle and unscrewed the cap, then eyed the gouge again. He warned,

"This will probably hurt. Your wounds are very deep."

Legault nodded.

"Yeah, go ahead."

Heath tipped the vial and poured some of the pale liquid out into his palm, and then set the bottle down. Gently grasping Legault's shoulder in one hand, he used the other to carefully apply the medicine with his fingertips. Legault jerked the moment he began, but grit his teeth and valiantly fought to hold still. After a few moments, he spoke in a strained tone,

"Besides, what-- _ah_ \-- what were you doing out there anyway, being chased down by people like that?"

Heath kept his expression stubbornly neutral and his eyes fixed as he worked the medicine into his wound.

". . . I was careless."

"Careless doing what, though?"

Heath dabbed more medicine out of the vial and didn't reply. Legault continued,

"You were pretty secure in our rendezvous point."

He winced as Heath applied another layer, but carried on.

"And you did have that mysterious key with you. You weren't-- _eurgh_ \-- possibly planning some idiotic heroics of your own?"

Heath shifted his eyes to the thief's questioning gaze and answered bluntly.

"All right, fine. Yes. I was."

He dumped more vulnerary out and used it very liberally, while the words spilled from him.

"Of course I was, Legault. I wasn't going to leave you, for gods' sake. I didn't even want you going on this mission to begin with. I don't care that it was a stealth mission, sending you in there without any sort of backup was ridiculous."

"Hey, hey. Save some of that vulnerary for yourself."

Heath paused. It actually took him several moments to remember he'd been injured as well. He'd been too busy to even notice the dull pain stabbing in his side.

"It isn't that severe."

"Still, you've used plenty. I should be good."

Heath grumbled, but finished applying the last bit still on his hands, then screwed the cap back on the vulnerary and set the vial down. When he lifted his eyes back up he found the thief gazing steadily at him. Heath swallowed. The man could always pin him perfectly when he did that. Legault spoke quietly.

"Thank you. For coming after me."

Heath returned the gaze a moment. He lifted a hand and gently slipped the bandana from Legault's head, fingers briefly grazing just above his brow. He tugged the knot in the bandana free and unwound the fabric, then very carefully wrapped it around Legault's shoulder and tied it securely in place.

He drew his eyes back up to Legault's.

"Thank you as well."

The thief's mouth curved into a lovely little smile. He murmured,

"Just a little friendship between fugitives."

Heath finally lifted his hand from Legault's shoulder. He nodded a little.

"Feel any better?"

Legault gingerly hopped off the crate, gave a test wiggle and lifted his arm slowly.

"Mmm. Much better. I should be ready for round two."

Heath raised a brow as he opened the vulnerary bottle again.

"What do you mean?"

Legault took a few steps into the dark room, casually investigating the boxes and junk piled about as he spoke.

"Well, I'm sure you've noticed by now that I'm not lugging around any massive national treasures."

The knight began to tend to his own wounds.

"I assumed the mission was a failure when you didn't return."

Legault nodded.

"For the most part, yes. I combed the entire treasury and turned up empty. Then I moved on to the next most likely locations. None of those brought me any luck either, but then I came across one thing: I learned where the Emblem's actually hiding."

Heath looked at him curiously.

"Where?"

Legault fiddled with one of the chests sitting among the stacks.

"A man by the name of Jerme is keeping it on his person at all times. He's . . . not someone to be taken lightly."

He turned and looked to Heath.

"Jerme was one of the original Four Fangs. Apparently he's since been replaced by Nergal's men, but he used to be the most feared assassin in all the Black Fang. We never got along very nicely. He always had a horrible coldness to his eyes."

Legault shook his head, as if the thought still chilled him.

"Over the years, he got much, much worse. Crueler and more twisted. Eventually, downright psychotic. I think the only reason Brendan Reed didn't try exiling him was because he was afraid to. It's been a while now since I've seen Jerme, but I can't imagine his blackened heart has grown any lighter in the interim . . . or his twisted mind any more lucid."

Heath finished tending to his lance wound and moved on to minor scrapes and abrasions. He replied,

"At least we know what we're up against. Should be useful intel to take back to camp."

Legault glanced down at the lock on the chest he'd been fiddling with.

"We could do that."

He looked up brightly.

"Or, we could go after the Emblem right here and now while we still know exactly where it is."

Heath looked at him sternly.

"Legault, no."

"Why not?"

"I think you lost too much blood back there and mustn't be thinking. The entire base must be searching for us by now, Legault. We'd be lucky to get out of here with our lives, let alone the Emblem."

"True, but hear me out. I think the situation is still salvageable."

Heath crossed his arms.

"All right. I'm listening."

Legault sat upon the chest.

"I've gathered that Jerme resides in the northernmost building, in the center chambers. I was actually on my way back to telling you when I ran into some trouble and was delayed waiting for some slack-jawed swordsmen to get out of the way of my escape route. But while I waited I noticed the building is isolated from the rest of the compound. We'd be skirting the majority of the base, and they probably wouldn't expect us to head straight into the lion's den."

"With good reason."

"We have a pretty straight shot to it from where we are right now, actually. I could get in and out of there, then we could head further north and circle around for Hyperion--"

"Hold. You wish to face this Jerme on your _own?_ You're not even fully recovered from your injuries."

"Oh, I'm not going to try to fight him. I want to pickpocket him."

Heath looked skeptical.

"Can you do that?"

Legault grinned.

"Absolutely. It's certainly smarter than trying to deal with his blade. All I need is to get close enough."

Heath frowned, seriously considering things. After some thought, he said,

"All right. I have one condition."

"Name it."

Heath looked at him.

"You're not to do it alone this time. I'll be standing by if something goes wrong."

Legault nodded.

"I can live with that."


	10. Chapter 10

Waiting for the right opportunity to creep across the compound was tense. The pair was huddled in the dark, close to the frozen ground, eyes and ears straining. Heath was eager to progress, but he kept still and followed Legault's lead. The thief seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to sense the enemy. There were many moments Heath thought the path looked all clear, but Legault refused to budge and then some Black Fang member would appear and walk past. Eventually, though, their time came, and Legault guided them in a zigzagged path over to the large grey building that loomed in the distance.

They encountered no one on their way over, but after they climbed the slope and reached the foot of the northern building, Legault stopped before they could get any closer.

"Hold on."

The two of them perched in a nook along the gradual slope several yards from the building, protected from sight by a little overhang of snow. Heath examined the solitary structure before them. In the flicker of the torchlights, there were a number of guards standing sentry along its perimeter. They were heavily armored and carried lances and axes, the weapons casting long shadows across the walls.

Legault commented quietly,

"Looks like they mean business."

Heath spun his new silver lance.

“So do I.”

Legault glanced to him, smirking.

"Whoa, there, tiger. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but that might be biting off more than you can chew."

“It’s fine. Just wait here for me.”

The knight prepared to take off in the direction of the building, and Legault grabbed his arm.

“Heath, seriously! Slow down. Why so keen to kill yourself?”

Heath shot him an annoyed look.

“I’m not. You want to get in, do you not? They have it surrounded. We need to brute force it.”

Legault looked at the building a moment and answered,

“At least give me a minute to try to get around to the other side. I can attack from behind when you charge in--”

“No, you need to sneak inside while I’m distracting them.”

Legault stared at him.

“You’re insane. I’m not leaving you to just get chopped to bits out here.”

Heath replied in exasperation,

“Look, it’s the only way we can even give you a chance.”

“I don’t buy that. There’s always another option.”

“There isn’t time to argue about this! Just let me--”

The two of them fell quiet as a racket came from behind. They both ducked down in alarm and watched, but the crashing was not the approach of other guards. Over the hill, a dark figure bound into view, eyes glinting in the night like orange cinders. It was a lone wyvern, looking stressed and confused, crashing and kicking about in the snow. Heath noticed the empty saddle still secured to the beast and realized it must have been the remaining mount from the wyvern lords they had fought against.

He heard Legault breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness. We need to get going before something other than a rogue wyvern happens by.”

Heath gazed at the wyvern thoughtfully and didn’t reply. Legault narrowed his eyes.

“Heath. I don’t like that look.”

“I have an idea.”

“If it has anything to do with that wyvern . . .”

“You wanted another option. It’ll level the playing field-- I’m in my element in the air.”

Legault eyed the wandering beast.

“You do remember that’s the same wyvern whose owner you killed? I doubt it feels particularly fuzzy toward you.”

“It doesn’t need to. It just needs to obey.”

Heath turned. The thief looked unconvinced.

“Trust me. It’ll be a rough ride, but I’m good with wyverns.”

Legault let out another sigh.

“Just try not to die spectacularly, all right?”

Heath nodded.

“You too. I’ll catch up to you inside.”

The knight crouched and started out toward the wyvern, eager to move while it was still facing away. He stepped swiftly, bounding over the snow as quickly as he could without making too much noise. It appeared the wyvern was looking curiously to the northern building. It stood transfixed, gazing nervously at the array of guards posted around the stone walls, as if uncertain whether to approach-- its tail twitching, its nose testing the air. Heath increased his pace as he closed in, hoping to reach the creature before it even noticed him, but in the last several yards the wyvern jerked its head around at his footsteps. It let out an angry shriek, turning about and lifting its wings and rearing up. Heath halted, holding his lance at the ready, trying to size up the best approach. The wyvern landed back on all fours and hissed, bright eyes burning rage at him.

“Down,” Heath barked at the wyvern. The wyvern swiped at him with its front foot, and Heath jumped back. He repeated,

_“Down!”_

The wyvern raised the spines on its back in a threatening display and snapped its jaws at him. Heath needed to dodge again, but he refrained from swinging his weapon. Confidently, he took another step forward, gesturing firmly with one hand, and shouted:

“DOWN!”

The wyvern still had its teeth bared, but it paused and stared at him for a few moments.

Heath stared back.

The wyvern charged, snow spraying as it leapt forward, knocking Heath backwards. The knight slid across the snow briefly, but not far enough. A massive pair of jaws filled his vision and the air stunk of decay and death. Heath reacted fast, swinging his lance up and wedging it sideways into the creature’s jaws before they could close. His arms shook from the force as the wyvern pressed hard against the lance, gnashing and struggling to close its jaws. He could just barely hold the beast at bay, but it twisted and pushed, and he knew he couldn’t last long. He wriggled on the ground, trying to find a way to right himself, and the wyvern twisted its head again and pushed forward. Desperately, Heath shot a foot out and kicked, knocking the beast in one of its orange eyes. The wyvern screamed, pulling back briefly, and Heath scrambled to his feet.

The wyvern apparently wasn’t in a particularly cooperative mood. Heath dodged as the creature lunged at him again, fending it off with the back of his lance. It shrieked again and swung its claws, and Heath took the opportunity to dive and roll. He ended up along the wyvern’s side, and didn’t waste any time hesitating. He launched himself at the creature’s back and grabbed hold of the saddle, hauling himself up and landing cleanly onto the saddle. The creature was not pleased. It cried out and spun around, turning its head to try and bite at Heath, but couldn’t reach. Heath dug his feet into the stirrups and looped the reins around an arm a few times, preparing for the worst.

The wyvern beat its wings and reared up, kicking and then stomping back down and roaring. Heath gave the reins a little tug, commanding,

_“Down!”_

Another volley of bucking and kicking bounced Heath about, but he held fast. The beast spun and twisted, whipping its tail around, then broke into a run. They galloped across the open snow somewhere in the general direction of the center of the compound, veered off to the right, then the wyvern jerked up and they became airborne. The wyvern flapped heavily for a little bit and then dove toward some trees, slicing through them dangerously. Heath yanked at the reins and shouted out commands, fighting for control, and the wyvern corkscrewed higher and higher into the sky. As they climbed, he carried on flicking the reins and battling the creature, but they continued on their trajectory into the heavens. When the trees became like small dots upon the ground, the wyvern jerked and fell into a twisting dive.

The drop was gut-wrenching, the wind practically pushing the air from Heath’s lungs. Frozen air whipped by so fast he could hear nothing over the roar, and they spiraled down past trees and hills in a crazy, drunken path. Heath had abandoned his attempts at commanding the wyvern and settled for trying to hold on, but as they veered wildly, they suddenly were bound directly for a deep snowbank studded with large rocks. Heath yanked hard on the reins, screaming orders at the creature. Just before they could go plowing into icy death, the wyvern pulled up.

Whipping past the snowbank and skipping over the gully past it, Heath yanked hard on the reins and ordered that they turn, and they gradually came about. Finally, the wyvern was responding to his commands. It took a while for Heath to urge the creature to come around, but eventually it responded more and more to his orders, and they circled the compound and headed back over in the direction of the northern building.

Obviously Heath’s theatrics had not gone unnoticed. The guards around the northern building were watching as he made his approach. They stood by, weapons poised, waiting and ready for him.

At least, they thought they were ready for him.

After dealing with the wyvern, the guards gathered around the building seemed like small fry in comparison. Heath tilted his lance and took a bracing breath of cold air. Gods, it felt good to be attacking from the sky again. Things were always awkward in comparison on the ground.

Heath selected his target, flicked the reins, and dropped into a dive.

They struck like a shooting star, the silver lance slicing through the gap in the knight’s chest armor and helmet. On the way down, the wyvern plowed into three other knights, bowling them over like pins. Heath tore the lance out and bashed into another knight, knocking the weapon from his hand. From behind, a general hefted an enormous axe, and Heath could hear the rustle and clatter of the chain hanging off the axe’s handle as the general took aim. He swiveled in his saddle and brought his lance about as the axe cut through the air. The axe blade struck the lance handle with an incredibly heavy impact, shaking through Heath’s entire frame. Heath commanded the wyvern and it reared up, spinning around and knocking the general down with its claws. Heath pounded hard with his lance, but it failed to pierce through the general’s dense armor. He flicked the reins and the wyvern leapt over foes and jumped back into the air. They flew over the slope and built some height up again, then turned and came diving back in.

On their second pass, Heath took out another knight clean, then turned and charged at the remaining guards. He battered at them repeatedly with his lance, fighting to get through the armor. Although it was a little time-consuming, he eventually worked through three of them, beating them down enough to cut through the weak points in their armor and felling them for good. Unfortunately, in the meantime, the general had gotten back to his feet and hauled himself back into position. When Heath looked up from skewering his last knight, it was to see the giant axe being lifted back to its apex.

Heath tapped his heels in the stirrups, giving the rear command, and his mount sprang up. He tried to block as the axe came swinging down, but the axe glanced off the lance and continued its deadly plunge. Thankfully, Heath’s chest plate took the brunt of the force, but after it slid across his armor, the axe dug into the wyvern’s shoulder and the creature screamed. The wyvern flailed and kicked furiously, smashing the general repeatedly, tearing into him with its talons. It was all Heath could do to just hold on as the wyvern rampaged, stomping the general until he was quite sure he wasn’t getting back up again.

When the wyvern finally slowed, its breathing heavy as it stared upon the smashed foes with fierce orange eyes, Heath gave a small sigh of relief. The guards lay scattered at their feet, everything perfectly decimated. He gently patted the creature’s neck, soothing,

“You got them, shhh. It’s over now, easy.”

The wyvern shrieked and jerked in response, then went into another furious fit, bucking and kicking and flapping.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, easy!”

The beast bolted across the bodies and went rushing back out over the snow, bounded over the slope, and leapt into the air. Heath scrambled to get the wyvern back under control, but it twisted and turned wildly, ignoring his commands. Before he knew what was happening, the wyvern flipped into a barrel roll, tossing Heath completely from the saddle. Everything was spinning open air and then Heath was deposited unceremoniously into a snowbank, flat on his back. Fortunately the fall had been a brief one, and while the landing stung, it had been far from fatal. He could see the dark figure of the berserk wyvern as it spiraled and flew away into the sky, and he groaned.

“I thought we were friends now,” he grumbled. He sat up and crawled out of the mound of snow, then used the lance to push himself to his feet. Brushing himself off, he gave the fleeing wyvern a final glance and then turned to the northern building again. The entire debacle had taken far longer than he had hoped. He hoped he hadn’t drawn too much attention to himself and that Legault hadn’t run into any issues inside. Quickly, Heath made his way back across the clearing.

The building itself was quite large and seemed to have several entrances. As Heath approached and passed by the fallen guards littering the ground, he noticed it was a fair bit taller than the other buildings as well. However, it was built of plain grey stone like all the others, with a flat, unadorned roof, almost like a military bunker. Other than the torches mounted along the walls at intervals, and what used to be windows but looked as though they’d long been boarded up from the outside, the stark building offered no discernible features. Heath came to the flight of stone steps leading up to the double iron doors and paused.

For some reason, he had an uneasy feeling about the place-- he supposed it was how quiet it was.  No reinforcements had exited the building to assist the guards, and no movement seemed to emanate from within. In fact, there were no signs of life at all. It didn’t seem right. Heath climbed the stairs and dug the key from his pouch. He was probably just feeling excessively wary. He’d felt that way when they first came upon the compound, after all. In any case, he didn’t have any time to lose. Legault had already gotten a big head start on him. Heath carefully inserted the key into the lock, but as he did so, the door opened a crack. He stared for a few moments. It seemed the door had been left unlocked. Slowly, he nudged the door open further. It creaked on its hinges.

Heath strained to see inside, but the room was shrouded in darkness. He pushed the door all the way and edged inside slightly. The floors felt smooth and echoed his footsteps. The room seemed to open into an almost foyer-like area, but there was little visible beyond the initial glimmer illuminated by distant torchlight outside. Heath was half-tempted to go out and fetch one of the torches to use himself, but that wouldn’t exactly help him with being stealthy. The knight crept forward into the darkness, hoping he was on the right track. As he entered the room, a very dim light caught his eye from the left. He followed it, moving carefully along the left perimeter of the room, trying to make as little noise as possible. He passed by a central staircase and came to a hallway on the left. The light was coming from down the hall.

As Heath passed through the hall, he could see the light was glinting off marble floors and fancy pillars. A long rug ran down the center. The hallway went for quite some distance, and Heath took it carefully, caught between the need to be quiet and his desire to hurry. The entire place was still disturbingly silent, and he wondered if Legault’s information on the building had been incorrect. He finally came upon the end of the hallway and faced a pair of elegantly-arced doors, with light leaking out from the other side. Heath could still hear nothing, so he pushed them open.

The bright light spilled in and Heath shielded his eyes a moment. The room was spacious and grand, the light coming from an elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling, crowded with dozens of candles. Below it, in the center of the room, a massive wooden table sprawled, lined on each side with rows of carved chairs. The floor was covered in a thick, lush rug and the table was set with fine plates, silverware, and glasses-- everything lovely and rich. But the scene was one of absolute disarray. The plates were smashed, the silverware scattered, portions of food left strewn around. A number of the chairs were overturned, and a silver food tray was upended on one side of the room, broken glass coating the ground. Heath stepped inside the room, surveying the destruction.

It was plain enough that a meal had been rudely interrupted. By exactly what, Heath wasn’t sure. He ran a finger along a deep gouge in the tabletop, and glanced down as he stepped upon more broken glass. Along the side of one wall, a large oak cabinet had one of its doors knocked askew, some plates splashed out and smashed upon the ground. Some things were spared the destruction-- deep red banners hung elegantly upon the walls, and against the far wall, a rack of decorative weapons hung glistening in the light, nestled against the velvet casing. Heath paced past the table, deeper into the room, and spotted a splintered lance upon the ground. Not far from it, a few other random items littered the floor; a vulnerary vial, a piece of armor. He passed them by and came upon the far end of the room, contemplating where he should try to head next. Something else caught his eye then, a bright patch of color on the floor.

He approached with trepidation and leaned down, picking the strip of fabric up. It was stained heavily with blood, but as it unfurled he could see the purple as well. Heath’s stomach twisted.

Gingerly, he folded the bloodied bandana up and tucked it in a pocket.

He moved quickly from the room and through the doorway on the far side. It led out into another long hallway. He scanned it urgently from left to right. Which way? He didn’t have any damn time for this. He was about to just choose a direction when he noticed something very minor on the carpeted floor-- a few small stains of blood, almost blended in with the red carpet. He turned right.

The hallway led to a number of doors. As Heath passed them by, he checked into each one. Most of the rooms were dark but all of them seemed unoccupied. He passed a kitchen and what looked to be several bedrooms. There were still occasional blood stains on the carpet, but the trail was very patchy and didn’t seem to be helping much. He checked several more rooms, finding nothing of value, and growing less stealthy and more forceful with each step. This was getting maddening-- he felt like a rat running round a maze, running into nothing but dead ends. Bedroom, bathroom, more storage-- Heath stopped short as he saw the next door was left slightly ajar. A small slice of light shone through and cast on the hallway wall.

Heath practically charged forward, but paused in the doorway to peer carefully inside. The room was mostly dark, the light cast from a single candle sitting on a small table. Beside the table, a figure sat upon a chair, his head bowed and his body leaning forward in a huddle. Long strands of purple hair had dipped forward and partly obscured his face, but he appeared unconscious. He was gagged and seemed to have his hands tied behind his back. Heath gripped his lance and felt his heart pound, ready to tear into the room and destroy anything in his way. It took every ounce of self-control to keep standing there. This wasn’t right. He knew this wasn’t right.

They wanted him to rush in.

Heath took a steadying breath.

He tried to gaze into the darkness, but he truly could not tell what else was in the room. He couldn’t even tell how big it was.

After considering it for a few moments, Heath reached down and untied the pouch from his belt. Craning his neck to the right, staring into the dark, he pitched his arm back, tried to aim somewhere in the center, and lobbed the bag as hard as he could.

There was a huge crash, followed by shouting, and Heath quickly pulled away from the door, ducking behind one of the nearby pillars in the hallway. Light flooded from the room and Heath listened to the yelling, smashing, and confusion. It eventually began to die down as a particular angry voice called over the din and tried to restore order.

“F’fuck’s sake you morons, stop trashing the place! He’s obviously not here--”

“He’s gotta be around somewhere.”

“Check nearby, quit wasting time!”

Several swordsmen stumbled out into the hallway and Heath prepared himself to fight. The men split up and went off separate ways, but they didn’t notice him concealed behind the pillar just beside the door. Either it was too stupid of a hiding place for them to even bother checking, or they were just very stupid themselves. The men left inside the room were still arguing and clamoring around. Heath listened to them bicker for a little bit and tensed up as one of the swordsmen came back his way. The solider passed him by and entered the room.

“Sir, we can’t find anything out here.”

“Then pull your heads out of your asses and try using your eyes! He can’t have gone far.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was a false alarm. I--”

“Are you kidding me?”

Heath inched his way back over to the doorway and chanced peeking in while they were distracted. The room was now lit brightly by gas lamps, so he could finally see inside properly. The light revealed a surprisingly spacious area with sleek marble floors and elegant furnishings. However, the sight was not exactly encouraging. There were at least twenty soldiers in there-- assassins, mercenaries, warriors-- all with a variety of weaponry, either searching the room, milling around or listening to the argument carrying on between several higher-ranking officers. The officers stood to one side of the table where Legault was still slumped unconscious.

Damn, damn, damn. Many of the men were swordsmen, and Heath knew he could take those on, but the sheer numbers were not in his favor. One of the officers standing near Legault had a killing edge, to boot.

A hero lounging nearby was busy leading the argument.

“We’re probably wasting time over nothing. Our boys got spooked over a little noise and now we’re gonna spend an hour wringing our hands over it.”

The man with the killing edge waved Heath’s leather pouch at his face.

“Does this _look_ like nothing, Jason? You’re a goddamn idiot.”

“Oh, sure, I'm the idiot. And who bungled their last mission so badly it had to be cleaned up by the new recruits? Oh yeah, that’s right-- it was you.”

“You wanna taste steel, you swine?”

Heath scanned the room desperately, trying to find some sort of avenue of attack. The room really was quite elaborate and seemed to be intended as the centerpiece of the building. There was a slightly raised central area to the room that was adorned with a mammoth fireplace and a small dining area. The center of the room then had brief flights of stairs that fed into roomy left and right wings. Legault was held captive in the left wing, seated at one of several small tables and surrounded by the cadre of officers. Large oak cabinets lined the walls and a harpsichord was perched in one corner. In the back of each of the wings, windows towered up to the ceiling, covered by rich red curtains. Heath supposed they were the windows he'd noticed from the outside that had been boarded up. Off to the side of the windows, each wing fed into hallways from the back, apparently leading into the other half of the building. Heath eyed the hallways with special interest. If he could get back there . . . but would that even help? The place was absolutely crawling with soldiers.

While he was still studying and pondering this, out of the corner of his eye, Heath saw Legault began to stir. He sucked in a breath, hoping nobody would notice. The officers were still busy bickering. There was a chance--

Heath felt his hopes cut short as the hero suddenly spotted things and barked,

"Everyone, shut up. The prisoner's waking up again."

The myrmidon replied irritably,

"Great. This is what happens when you waste our time, Jason."

"I swear by the dark lord, I'm going to turn your guts to garter belts if you keep at it. I'm the one who wanted to reset the trap--"

 “All right, _enough!_ I have a solution for everyone.”

One of the officers, an ugly-looking assassin, crossed over the room and hauled Legault up out of the chair. In a breath's moment, he'd pulled a curved dagger out and held it to the thief's throat. The hero exclaimed,

“What the hell are you doing?!”

"In the next five minutes, I'm disposing of the rat bait regardless."

Every muscle in Heath tensed, but he didn't dare move. This situation had rapidly gone from incredibly improbable to fucking impossible. The man holding Legault only needed to twitch his wrist to kill him. He couldn't go charging in now. It would be a death sentence.

The myrmidon with the killing edge commented disparagingly.

"Put that down, you moron. You know our orders."

The assassin shifted his grip, roughly dragging Legault with him. The thief seemed weak on his feet and stumbled as his captor yanked him along.

"I don't care. We've waited 'round long enough like this and I'm sick of all your whining. If you lads can't play nice and share, then _nobody_ gets to play with the prisoner."

"You're digging your own grave."

"So be it. You boys only get a few minutes to make your minds up, so you best get deciding now."

Heath grit his teeth, infuriated at how helpless he was. What the hell was he supposed to do?! His eyes darted over the room. The other soldiers had mostly abandoned their search and were watching the unfolding drama instead. All eyes were on the assassin impatiently pacing with Legault tightly in his grip.

There was no way. Any move he'd make would be futile. The situation was just too delicate.

The other officers continued to argue, but Heath did not hear them. He was too focused on the assassin pacing the room and the panic rising in his throat. He watched as the assassin drifted toward the back of the room, and something tickled at the edges of Heath's mind. There, there-- he could sneak around to the other hallway. Maybe, if he was quiet enough-- but everyone was still watching. How could he? There _had_ to be a way.

Dragon's teeth, what would Legault do?

Heath's eye fell upon the window curtains. The assassin was standing quite near them now.

It was such a long shot, but it was the only idea to actually leap into Heath's mind. He slipped away from the doorway and bolted down the hall. He wasn't sure how long it took him to work his way around to the other side-- things had started to run together into a panicked blur. Somehow, he navigated through the maze of the building until he came across the right hallway. Moving along the darkened hallway at a forced careful pace, he finally came to the threshold that led into the main room. By some miracle, the assassin was still loitering nearby the back of the room, although he looked like his patience was wearing thin.

Heath swallowed, feeling his heart in his throat as he studied the floor-to-ceiling curtains that were tantalizingly close, a few steps away. He was suddenly swept with a powerful feeling of doubt that he could do this. It was a bizarre and rare sensation for him-- like a wave of ice-cold terror washing over him. It was not his own life he feared for, though. He understood what failure would mean.

As a sheer last-second decision, Heath backed off and retreated back into the darkened hallway a little. He yanked the armor plates off his body in an awkward rush. There was no damned way he could succeed with the bulky, noisy things on. After he'd shed everything, he picked his lance back up, but stared at it a moment. No, no . . . this wouldn't work either. Damn it. It was just too close-quarters-- he needed a shorter blade. This was taking too long!

Heath felt as though he could scream, but as if by divine intervention, he noticed a display of decorative weaponry hanging on the walls like he'd seen in the dining room. He climbed a chair and yanked a dagger from the rack, one with a leather grip and a glittering, silver blade. He took both it and his lance and returned to the threshold of the room.

Ignoring the intense feelings of self-doubt, Heath forced himself to study everyone in the room, and when it seemed he had his moment, he moved forward-- closing the small gap of open space he had to move through and slipping behind the curtain.

He remained perfectly still then for a moment. Nobody rushed forward, nobody shouted-- nobody noticed.

Next was the hard part. Heath stood as flat as he could and slid along the wall, creeping along behind the curtains. The care he had to take was downright painful, moving along at an excruciatingly slow pace. His entire body quivered from the effort to remain slow and deliberate with each step. Gradually, he worked his way along to where the assassin was standing.

The rumble of the assassin's voice helped clue him in as to exactly where he stood. The man was shouting at his colleagues, telling them they were out of time. He could hear the myrmidon was near, trying to convince him to stop. Heath studied the curtains in front of him, trying to imagine where exactly his mark needed to be. It was literally a shot in the dark.

Heath closed his eyes, visualizing the assassin, picturing his exact height and build. Then he opened his eyes and lifted the dagger. The assassin was yelling.

Every ounce of strength went into the quick, short motion as he stabbed into the curtain.

He felt the sickening, satisfying sensation as the blade sunk deep into its mark. The assassin halted mid-yell, making a gurgling sound before his voice tapered off.

Heath pulled the dagger out, slick with blood. He drew the curtain back just slightly, around waist-height, locating the rope that bound Legault's hands behind his back. With a clean, quick motion, he flicked the dagger, cutting through the binds. He then flipped the dagger and placed its handle in Legault's hand. He prayed the thief was well enough to fight.

Legault's hand closed around the handle.

Heath took his lance back into his primary hand.

The curtains tore and shredded as Heath exploded out from behind them, driving his lance into the first foe he came into contact with. The lance buried into the heart of the myrmidon, the man's expression one of confusion and shock. Heath didn't pause and didn't miss a beat, pulling the lance out and sweeping it in a lethal arc, slicing through the group of soldiers before him. To his left, Legault was ducking and weaving, searching for small, millimeter-wide windows of opportunity and striking them with perfect precision. One by one, the men he faced fell to his dagger.

The Black Fang members swarmed over them from all sides, but Heath was not focused on the numbers. He was focused solely on the moves he was making-- move here, twist, strike now, dodge, strike, strike, jump. It was unclear how many men he cut down, because he could only concentrate on what the next step was. There was an almost serene clarity to being in the center of such intensity. Heath unleashed the full force of his energy upon the group, driving deeper and deeper into the fray. At some point, he realized he was possibly in a little bit of trouble. His lance was locked with an axe, and he was literally surrounded by all sides by other swordsmen. He'd been using a knight's shield he'd picked up to help fend off the brutal volley of attacks, but things were getting a little ridiculous. He struggled against the axe pressing into his weapon, but the fighter was strong and he stubbornly held fast. Heath felt his grip start to slip. Had he been fresh to the fight, he could probably throw the axeman off with no trouble; but the night had been long and was starting to take its toll on his strength.

One of the mercenaries finally got a sword through, nicking Heath, and he jerked-- the fighter hefted against his weapon with all his might, and Heath's advantage crumbled, the lance slipping away and the handle pressing sideways against his chest. The fighter lifted the axe briefly to send it down on him, but before he could land the death blow, something went sliding across the floor under Heath right between his legs, and the fighter flinched and stumbled. Heath rammed his lance into the fighter and as he went flying backwards, he realized it was Legault on the floor beneath him. Heath looked down and gave the man between his legs a brief bemused look-- the thief smirked over his shoulder at him and shrugged-- and then Heath reached a hand down, helping pull Legault back to his feet in one fluid motion. Legault was stabbing foes again on his way up, using the momentum Heath had given him before he'd even gotten to his feet. Heath turned in his heel to face the swordsmen behind them, letting Legault take care of the other side.

Before long, they'd significantly thinned out the enemies together. Heath found he was facing fewer and fewer men, and he started to wonder if they might somehow pull through this mess. Buoyed by their success, Heath rushed the last group of mercenaries with enthusiasm. He cut the first man across the legs, sending him sprawling, then he sunk his lance into the chest of the next one. A blade came swinging right for Heath's head and he ducked. For a half-second, Heath felt alarmed at a weight pressing on his right shoulder, but it was gone in a moment and he'd realized Legault had vaulted off his shoulder. The thief went diving into the mercenary that had been swinging at Heath just moments ago. Heath took the opportunity to bounce back up and gouge into the man on his left, the enemy's weapon dropping from his hands as he cried out. Legault darted to Heath's right and the knight lifted the back end of his lance up to let him pass by, then brought the lance handle smashing back down again immediately after, crashing into the man hot on Legault's tail.

Heath then gave a quick glance over his shoulder. He noticed they'd ended up near the center of the room, because Legault had bounded up a few of the steps to gain an advantage. Heath clashed weapons with the mercenary near him, distracting him to give the thief a window for making his move. Legault was poised to strike, but something out of the corner of Heath's eye made him turn and look. It was a man running across the room-- bounding rapidly over the others and leaping up the short flight of steps. He reached the center of the room in a matter of moments, and when he did, a strange bright flash poured out from his direction. All at once, the wind was knocked out of Heath. It felt like a solid wall had crashed into him. He flew backwards, the back of his head colliding with the floor.

A voice, booming and furious, cut through the air and echoed off the walls.

"STOP."

Heath pushed himself upright with a painful grunt. For a moment, he thought he was seeing things. There seemed to be a giant _bubble_ in front of him; curved, transparent walls that shimmered slightly in the light. The bubble encompassed the entire central area of the room. Heath quickly realized it was probably a magic barrier of some kind. It must have been what threw him back. Just a few feet from him, Legault had also been tossed to the ground. However, he had fallen on the opposite side of the barrier.

Heath's eye was drawn further to the middle of the room, and to the man that had been the source of the flash. It was a tall, thin man with ratty red hair, standing in a slight crouch beside the fireplace. His hand was clenching something that was on a chain around his neck-- it seemed to swirl with residual magical energy. The man calmly tucked the chain under his shirt and straightened back up. He took a few steps forward, gazing out at the scattered group of soldiers. An ugly smile twisted his gaunt face and he clicked his tongue. Calmly, quietly, he said,

"You're all very bad at listening, I see."

His smile inched further into a sneer and he continued in a louder voice.

"Did you not hear me before? No one was to lay a finger on him until I returned."

Heath looked to Legault. The thief was still sitting on the steps near him, bloodied and worn, but otherwise looking all right. He was staring pensively at the newcomer, but the man seemed to ignore him entirely. The strange man simply continued to stare out at the other Black Fang members. One of his hands settled upon the hilt of the weapon at his side. Slowly, his grip on the handle tightened. His calm, serious tone slipped into an urgent, higher pitch, his voice wavering angrily.

"You all _knew_ I needed to fetch the right blade. The others had all eaten recently. This one, it's ready to feast. You wouldn't have me let it starve, would you?"

Heath shot a quick glance around the room. The Black Fang members were all standing by nervously. Nobody seemed interested in attacking anymore-- nobody seemed interested in even speaking.

"Leave us."

The room was silent for a few moments. One of the mercenaries close to Heath stammered and finally spoke.

"B-but sir, what about--"

The man shot a look of poison at the mercenary.

" _I said to leave._ All of you. Now. I have an old score to settle here. I'd like some privacy."

He gave Heath a mild passing glance.

"But leave his friend here. He can watch."

The Black Fang all seemed hesitant, but it was also plain how much they feared to disobey. Reluctantly, the remaining men gathered up their weapons and exited the room, none daring to breathe another word of dissent. The man waited until everyone had departed before finally turning his gaze down to the steps, and to the thief that was standing there. Legault's expression was taut and serious.

The man smiled.

"Hurricane," he spoke, drawing out the word delightfully.

"Hello, Jerme."

The assassin tightened his grip about the handle of his sword again, looking terribly eager.

"It's been a while. I didn't expect you to return to us."

Legault cast a look around the room.

"Ah, well. I can't say I'd originally planned to. Love what you've all done with the new place."

He ran his dagger along the transparent wall of the magical barrier, causing it to spark a little.

"Magic seal's a pretty fancy touch."

Jerme gave a shrill, unpleasant giggle.

"It is, isn't it? That's Nergal's little gift to me. He knows how I do love to slice and cut, and I can take my time this way.  Oh, I'm so glad that you're here now, Hurricane. I thought today would be dull."

Heath took the opportunity to start walking the perimeter of the barrier, looking for any sort of way in or weaknesses.

"You do realize Nergal's just using you, right? He's been using the entire Black Fang as his pawns, Jerme."

The assassin laughed uproariously.

"What do I care, so long as he keeps bringing me more things for my blade to feast on?"

He drew his weapon from its scabbard. It was a short sword that glinted in the light. Heath recognized it as a light brand.

"I always hated you, you know? Always nipping at my heels, anytime I'd look behind me. People would talk about how I was the best. Nobody was as fearsome as the Death Kite, they'd say. There is only one assassin that might be able to best him. Ooh, when _you_ came along."

The man stared intently at the shining blade of his sword.

"You were their new favorite, weren't you? So much talk of you rivaling the Four Fang's power. They were keen to see you topple me and take my place. I knew. I could see it in their eyes."

"I had no interest in competing with you, Jerme."

The assassin shifted his gaze back to Legault.

"No? Well. Regardless, you have your chance to now."

Jerme pointed his sword at Legault.

"Draw your weapon. Let's see if you're really as good as they say you are, Hurricane."

Heath watched tensely. Legault was looking at Jerme with genuine fear in his eyes. Heath struck at the barrier with his lance forcefully, sending sparks flying.

"Don't bother trying that," Jerme said casually, not even turning his head to look at him.

"The barrier will only fall if I do. Just wait your turn like a good little knight. My blade will be happy for the second course."

"Let's keep this between you and me, Jerme. You can leave him out of this."

The assassin grinned.

"I'm afraid it's not up to me. I can't control my weapon's appetite, you see. Now face me. I want this lasting for more than a few seconds."

"All right, all right. Just give me a moment then."

Legault took up the stained white cloth that had still been hanging partially around his neck. Heath realized it must have been the fabric they'd used to gag Legault earlier. The thief neatly folded it, then used it like a bandana, tying it into place and clearing the hair from his eyes. Jerme watched, practically shaking with impatience. When Legault had finished, he took the silver dagger back in his hand and settled into a ready stance.

"All right, Jerme. You want me, come get--"

The words hadn't even left his mouth and Jerme was already charging at him with a terrifying ferocity. Legault had to dive and roll out of the way, but Jerme was quick. He spun around immediately and swung his blade furiously, the sound making loud, harsh slices in the air. Legault could barely keep up, avoiding each of the strikes just in the nick of time. After dodging the initial volley of attacks, the thief tried to slip in with his own weapon. Jerme sent his sword crashing into the dagger with enough force that Heath expected Legault's weapon to go flying. Somehow the thief kept ahold of it and followed up with several quick, short jabs. Jerme evaded him easily and slashed as if trying to take Legault's arm clean off. Legault sidestepped it, but Jerme immediately swooped his sword in a massive berth. The thief had to drop once more and roll out of the way.

The assassin pursued him without a second's pause, and was swinging his weapon about like a madman in all directions. Heath knew this didn't look very promising-- Legault was barely able to avoid being cut to ribbons, let alone get in any attacks of his own. Frustrated, Heath beat his lance against the magic barrier again, striking it repeatedly, but it did nothing but give a small spray of white sparks. It felt like trying to force two magnets of opposite poles together-- the weapon simply would not push through. Was he really forced to stand by and watch this, completely powerless to intervene? It seemed like that truly was the case. Feeling distraught and hopeless, Heath watched Legault continue to scramble frantically. He was entirely on the defensive now, just trying to keep alive, and repeatedly relied on ducking and rolling out of the way and backing off from Jerme. The assassin seemed to be growing tired of it, his teeth clenched tight, his rage written all over his face. Legault once again ducked and rolled out of the way, and this time, Jerme pointed his sword directly upward: a bolt of light crackled from the blade and struck Legault dead-on with a white-hot flash.

Heath felt his heart drop, smoke curling off Legault as he sat prone on the ground, looking dazed and in pain.

"DON'T MAKE ME RESORT TO THAT AGAIN," Jerme screamed, rushing at Legault, sword poised and ready to plunge deep. Legault dove forward, slashing with his dagger at the man's legs. By the grace of the gods, the thief slipped by and regained his footing, using the chance to back off again and put more distance between them. Jerme swung his sword to the sky and shot another bolt off-- then again, again, and again, the magic bolts slamming down into the ground with ear-splitting cracks, but Legault was better prepared for them this time, dodging each one in turn.

_"You've always been nothing but a coward, Hurricane,"_ Jerme screamed again, evidently not satisfied with the fight Legault was providing him.

"Ah, but I already knew that," Legault said, giving him an easy smile.

"Your aim seems a little off these days, though."

Jerme roared, charging at him again. Legault had backed up far enough that he was near the hearth in the center of the room. In a quick motion, he twisted around and grabbed some glass baubles decorating the top of the mantle, flinging them at Jerme as he approached. Jerme ducked and smashed at them with his blade and kept coming, upon the spot in a matter of moments. Legault skidded back, grabbing a handful of the large banner that hung on the wall beside the mantle, swooshing it with one hand at Jerme as he slashed with his dagger in the other. Jerme shredded the banner like paper, but it bought Legault a few seconds of time. The thief broke into an open run, darting across the long red carpet decorating the marbled floors.

Jerme was on his tail like a creature possessed, providing almost zero leeway for the thief to work with. Legault approached the small table in the middle of the room that seemed arranged for refreshments, yanking up one of the wooden chairs and swinging it about. The chair smashed into the assassin, but Jerme seemed unfazed, his blade spinning and weaving like death. Legault used the chair to fend him off for a few moments, almost as if he were a lion at the circus, until the chair was smashed and splintered to pieces by Jerme's sword. Legault grabbed the next chair and used it to bound up onto the table, plates smashing in his wake. Jerme slashed at his legs, Legault jumped to avoid it, then stabbed at him with his dagger. The assassin leaped onto the table himself, jutting the sword in an attempt to gut Legault. The thief parried the sword, returning a few rapid strikes of his own. Jerme swung with terrifying force, and Legault leapt back a pace, the tip of the blade tickling millimeters away from his skin.

Jerme prepared for his next strike, but Legault was reaching behind himself-- his hand wrapped around the neck of a wine bottle. The thief gave the bottle a powerful throw, and Jerme jerked his weapon just in time, the glass smashing to hundreds of pieces against the sword's blade. Red wine sprayed the room and completely covered the assassin. Jerme briefly paused, his eye trailing over the wine dripping over his hands. He made a strange, almost strangled noise in this throat, quivering as if in some sort of frenzied rage. Screaming, he swung his weapon, but Legault dodged him cleanly, then sunk his dagger between Jerme's ribs. The assassin cried out in pain, yanking back and swinging his sword crazily. Legault dodged each stroke with small, subtle motions and drove at him with his dagger, stabbing rapidly left, right, up, down-- driving him back. Jerme whipped his blade in an upwards motion, but Legault avoided decapitation and twisted slightly to the side, jutting his dagger out again despite not having much leverage at the moment to sink it in. Jerme took a half-step back to avoid it and prepare a swing, but his heel met with a silver food tray behind him. His foot didn't slip much, only an inch or two, but Legault had been ready for it. He plunged forward, knocking into Jerme, causing the man to slip and topple backwards off the table.

Not wasting a moment, Legault dove after him, weapon seeking his throat. Heath felt certain the finishing blow had come, but Jerme kicked a leg out, throwing Legault off before he could land on him. The thief picked himself back up so quickly it was almost as if he'd never fallen, and he was on Jerme again in a heartbeat. The assassin had somehow righted himself as well, and the two exchanged a ridiculously fast flurry of blows. Heath started to have difficulty even following what was happening, the fight becoming practically a blur. In a way, it was the worst part of watching so far: not only could he do nothing, but at this point, he couldn't even track who had the upper hand. Finally, he could make sense of things again when Legault fell backwards against the table. Jerme had the look of a starving wolf in his eyes as he brought his blade down. The thief pushed against the table with an elbow, rolling aside as the light brand dug deep into the furniture. Jerme tugged up, but his weapon remained lodged for a moment. It took a second attempt to free the sword from the tabletop, but that extra time was a lethal mistake. Legault buried his dagger into Jerme's back-- deep.

The assassin's shout sounded awful, Heath guessing at a punctured lung; it certainly was in the right location for one. But to Heath's horror, the man still didn't crumble and fall, instead whipping around, knocking Legault with an arm and throwing him aside. The assassin took the dagger still buried in his back and yanked it free. What Heath was witnessing was not some feat of magic. There was no doubt Jerme was gravely injured and would succumb to his wounds. But he could clearly still draw breath for a little while longer, and he seemed intent on taking Legault out in that time.

Jerme charged forward, light brand in one hand, dagger in the other. He was covered in wine and blood, and a freakish grin stretched across his face. Legault backed off, looking about for any sort of makeshift weapon he could use, but it seemed as if he was running out of options. Jerme swung his dual weapons, the rapid slicing of blades too quick for the eye to follow. Legault had to dodge for his life. He was doing surprisingly well, but then it happened; he made a misstep. Heath couldn't see exactly what happened, but Legault cried out and desperately scrambled to get out of the way. He saw Legault was gripping his shoulder and realized his bad shoulder must have been hit. Jerme came at him like an unrelenting tide. The thief leapt to one side and tried to run. The assassin aimed his sword and shot another magical bolt, Legault tumbling to the ground like a bird struck by an arrow.

Heath could see the look of pure anticipation in Jerme's eyes. He cast aside the dagger, the weapon spinning and clattering down the steps on the opposite side of the room, then took his light brand in both hands, lifting it high. Legault struggled to stand, but the magic bolt that hit him had been powerful. He remained prone on the floor.

Jerme charged, his scream sounding twisted and distorted, running at Legault full speed. Heath shouted on the other side of the barrier, striking it uselessly with his lance.

Legault ceased struggling to stand, instead calmly watching as Jerme barreled down the long red rug at him, sword poised for a massive strike. It was almost as if Legault was resigned to his fate.

In the last few moments, Legault reached below himself, grabbing at the red rug beneath him. He gave the rug a yank. It wasn't much, but it was enough to hitch it up a little beneath Jerme's feet. The assassin tripped slightly as he went diving at Legault, bringing his sword swinging down. He plowed into Legault, the two crumpling together on the floor.

Heath stared. He could not tell from his damned angle what exactly had happened-- he could only see Jerme had landed in a heap upon Legault. Had he . . .? Was Legault . . .

Suddenly, the glassy wall in front of Heath flickered, then dropped away. Heath moved in an instant, crossing the room and immediately at Legault's side. He grabbed at the sickening assassin and hauled him off Legault.

Jerme fell onto his back as Heath lifted him up. His light brand was jutting out of his chest, the delicate, jewel-encrusted handle looking somehow absurd buried in the horrible man. His face was frozen in the same expression of psychotic bloodlust he'd had when charging.

Heath looked to Legault. The thief had obviously seen better days, but glancing him over, Heath could not see any lethal injuries.

"Hey," Legault greeted, voice a little weak but steady. Heath smiled gently at him.

"Hey. You all right?"

Legault grinned crookedly.

"Better than him, at least."

Heath looked the thief over again.

"Can you stand?"

"Let's find out."

Heath took him in both arms and scooped him up, then very carefully let him try standing. He was honestly surprised when the man wavered a little but was able to remain upright on his own accord.

"Pretty impressive moves," Heath said to him lightly. Legault smiled.

"Thanks. You too."

 The thief cast a look around the room.

"If your armor's anywhere nearby, you better grab it now. We shouldn't linger here long."

 Heath nodded.

"Over this way."

"Hold on."

Legault crouched by Jerme's body. He pushed aside the man's cape and tugged a flap of his shirt back, grabbing hold of a golden chain and pulling. Heath watched as he pulled up, revealing the object hanging on the chain. It was a large, smooth jem, an intense bright orange, encircled in a delicately crafted dragon made of gold. 

Heath chuckled dryly.

"In all this madness, I'd almost forgotten about that."

Legault reached the chain out, offering the emblem to Heath. The knight shook his head.

"That's all right, you can carry it. I'd probably manage to lose it somehow."

Legault looped the chain around his own neck and Heath helped him back to his feet.

"Fair enough. Lead the way, then."


	11. Chapter 11

The wyvern rider and the thief did not remain long once Jerme was dead. Heath took the time to hastily gather his armor, and they briefly spared a few moments to swipe and use some vulneraries off the battle-strewn floor. After that, they made for their retreat. Legault guided them down the halls to the back of the building, hoping to slip out without much fuss, but unfortunately they met with opposition. It seemed the men that Jerme had ordered to leave had sent word to the rest of the compound, and the entire outside of the building was surrounded. The pair had to run for it, rushing wildly for the darkness of the nearby woods, dozens of Black Fang members in hot pursuit. It was a close and dangerous race, but once they reached the treeline they managed to gain some advantage. Weaving through the dense forest, moving as quickly as they could manage, the pair eventually shook their pursuers. They kept up a good pace until they were certain they were no longer being followed.

While it was a relief to finally escape the relentless assassins, it did lead to an unfortunate side effect. Originally, they had planned on circling around the compound and making their way back to Hyperion. However, that option seemed less and less likely. In order to shake the Black Fang, they had crisscrossed through the woods for a considerable distance. By the time they had slowed their frantic march and felt a little safer, they had been turned around more times than they could count. Navigating through the woods was a daunting task already, but finding Hyperion again seemed nigh impossible. It took a considerable amount of time to even come across a break in the trees large enough to see the sky and judge the direction of north. Although their prospects seemed grim, the pair decided they would have a better chance making for camp then trying to approach the Black Fang compound again to locate Hyperion. It was painful deciding to leave Hyperion behind, but Heath knew he had to be realistic. If they could manage to get back to camp, there was a very good chance they could still recover the wyvern; but if they died out here trying to find her now, it wouldn't do any good to anyone.

There was a general direction the two knew to head in, but they didn't have much else to go on beyond that. The Ranshein mountain range was expansive, covered in rough terrain and dotted with evergreen forests that went on for miles. The mountain range itself wasn't even entirely mapped out by the inhabitants of Bern. Heath knew they had flown in from the south, and that camp was tucked just under one of the peaks. It was just a matter of traveling there and locating the right peak. That was far from a simple task, but Heath held out some hope for it. He had spent a decent amount of time studying the area while Eliwood's company had traversed it. It had been on wyvernback during a snowstorm, true, but if anyone was to recognize the area and navigate it, it was him.

There was, however, another problem beyond simply figuring out where to go. The night had grown very dark and very cold. The pair was already injured and exhausted from their extended fight with the Black Fang, and the grueling journey through the mountains wasn't making it any easier. They pushed on despite everything, knowing that stopping now would be incredibly unwise. At least the snowstorm had abated by now, although it had left huge blankets of fresh snow behind. Heath and Legault's footsteps crunched heavy and deep as they passed through the frigid landscape.

After carefully descending through a jagged gorge that lasted for several miles, the two reached another patch of woods and trudged through the trees. What little light the sky offered was swallowed up almost completely in the woods, but Legault was able to at least keep them traveling in the same direction as they passed through. When they finally immerged again out into the open snow, it was at the base of a short peak that looked familiar to Heath. At his urging, they climbed the slope, although it was a steep and slippery affair, so it was slow progress. The further they ascended, the more the icy winds whipped at them. Heath felt his face and hands were starting to grow completely numb. Looking beside him, Legault didn't seem to be faring terribly well either. His head bowed low, his lips held in a tight, thin line, his eyes narrowed to slits, he moved with clearly belabored steps. There were several times he'd stumbled and Heath had feared he'd go tumbling down the hill, but he doggedly clamored back and kept going.

Finally, the two reached the summit of the hill they'd been scaling. But when they gazed out over the valley below, Heath could feel dread slowly creeping in. This wasn't the hill he'd thought it was-- at least, he didn't think so. None of this valley looked familiar to him. He studied the two peaks in the distance. Those might have been the two he'd passed on the way out with Hyperion, but they also . . . they also might have been different peaks. He wasn't sure anymore.

Legault's voice, muted and faint but still with his usual levity, came from beside him.

"Which way, Commander?"

Heath looked at him.

"I . . . we have to pass those two peaks."

Legault looked at the mountains in the distance.

"Oh . . . hell."

The thief swayed slightly on his feet, and tried again in vain to wrap his cape further around himself. He had been shivering without pause for probably over an hour now.

"All right. We better . . . keep moving."

"Wait, Legault. You look like you're about to drop."

Legault laughed weakly.

"Yeah, but you don't look much better."

Heath took up one of Legault's hands to judge his temperature, but his own hands were so cold that he realized he couldn't even tell. He frowned.

"You're right. We're courting hypothermia at this rate."

"We're pretty close to camp by now, though, at least? Just past those peaks?"

Heath glanced away a moment, staring at the distance. He admitted,

"I'm not actually certain. I think we may be lost."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

The thief glanced around them.

"In that case, it might be a good idea for us to get down off this hill, get a bit of a wind wall and build a fire, if we can manage it."

"Agreed."

Descending the hill and entering the valley below fortunately didn't take the pair too long, but locating appropriate fuel for a fire took quite a bit longer. They had to keep walking until they came across another patch of trees and pick through it to find wood and tinder that was dry enough. After clearing some ground away in the midst of the patch of evergreens and constructing things, they took turns trying to achieve actual combustion. They lacked a flint and steel, so needed to resort to basic friction fire-starting. The wood was stubborn and fairly ill-suited for the task, but eventually they managed to ignite something. They carefully tended the small fire, nurturing it until it had developed into a respectable size.

It took time, but as they huddled there, Heath gradually felt the warmth returning to his body.  He hadn't even realized how cold he had been until now. He was especially attentive over Legault, who had looked very weak, but he seemed to improve significantly once they had the fire going.

For a long time, they said nothing, simply soaking in the heat of the flames and adding more twigs and logs when they were needed. A steady supply of pine needles was especially useful for helping to ignite the stubborn wood. Heath was sprinkling in more of the needles on top of a fresh log when Legault spoke.

"I'm sorry I got you stuck in this mess."

Heath glanced up at him. The thief was staring steadily into the fire, fiddling with a small twig in one hand. He looked genuinely upset, as if his mind had been dwelling deep on some very unpleasant things.

Heath frowned at him in confusion.

"What are you talking about? I'm the one who got us lost."

Legault shook his head, replying in a bitter tone.

"We never would have been wandering out here without Hyperion if I hadn't insisted on going after the Emblem."

Heath huffed.

"Don't be absurd. You were right to do so. They would have spirited the Emblem away by the time we regrouped. It was probably the only chance we had."

The thief looked up at him, smiling humorlessly.

"Not very useful to us if we die out here now, though, is it?"

Heath swallowed. He didn't like seeing Legault so uncharacteristically pessimistic.

"Don't talk like that. We'll survive the night, then find our way back to camp."

"Maybe."

Legault continued to stare at the fire. Then he cursed and shook his head.

"If only I'd just pickpocketed the damned thing, we could have been on our merry way and back to camp by now. I should have known it wouldn't be that simple."

Heath studied him. He wasn't sure if this was the best time to ask, but he did anyway.

"What exactly happened?"

The thief flicked the little twig into the fire.

"Ehh. I made an attempt. The Emblem sparked like mad when I got hold of it, shocked me pretty good. Part of the magic barrier Nergal enchanted the thing with, I assume. Then ran into some trouble when I tried to retreat."

"You couldn't have possibly anticipated all that."

Legault shrugged.

"I should have been prepared for unexpected contingencies, though. Or at least not get my silly ass captured. Lucky thing you were able to come in and-- _by the way,_ " he cut himself off mid-sentence, shooting Heath a look,

_"Fantastic_ entrance, if I do say so. I about pissed myself. That might have also been the almost-getting-my-windpipe sliced open thing, but still. You were like an old Fang pro, I couldn't believe it. I feel like I'm learning exciting new things about you, Heath."

The knight squirmed uncomfortably a moment, but then gave him a look of his own.

"I could say the same for you. Second only to the Four Fangs? Somehow you neglected to mention that little detail."

Legault glanced away.

"Pah. I gave a pretty poor performance for that claim, if you ask me."

Heath stared at him, bewildered.

"How can you still believe that? Even that deranged assassin was talking of fretting over you at every turn."

"He feared my reputation, Heath, not me."

"Are you saying you didn't build your reputation? You never did tell me how you became the Hurricane."

Legault seemed to wince at the name. He shook his head and chuckled dryly.

"You really want to know? We're stuck out here in the middle of only Elimine-knows-where and you want me to ramble about my past misadventures?"

Heath leaned back, as if settling in to get comfortable, and looked at him.

"If we're to die out here, it might as well be on a good story."

Legault laughed. His mood seemed to lighten just a little.

"All right. You know how to present a compelling argument, I'll give you that much."

He glanced down at the fire.

"I'll go into it. Can't say I enjoy talking about those days all that much, but I guess I could never refuse you, could I?"

He drew a breath, then let it out in a slow sigh. Heath remained quiet and attentive.

"I hadn't been with the Fang for too long at the time. A month or two, I guess. It was the first truly big job I was put in charge of. We were in a village in the southern valley, named Rosenholm . . ."

 

 

"Don't fuck this up, Legault."

Legault frowned.

"Hey, now. What about 'Don't fuck this up, Linus'? He's here too."

The handsome  swordmaster quirked his lips and answered,

"I know he'll do fine. It's you I'm a bit iffy about."

"Shut up, Lloyd."

The broad-chested man with an axe hefted his weapon up and leaned it against his shoulder.

"If you two ladies will stow it, I'd like to get this finished while we're still young."

"Patience, brother. This isn't a smash-and-grab. Remember what we discussed. Let Legault take point on this one."

Linus grumbled, but didn't argue with him. Lloyd added on,

"I'll be hanging back here, unofficially. If something goes wrong, or Legault fucks something up or whatever--"

"--Lloyd--"

"--just bail, all right? Dirty dukes are a dime a dozen, but good assassins aren't easy to replace."

"Yes, mother."

"Now get going. Make it a nice, clean job, boys."

The fog hung heavy on the ground, the spires of the massive castle ahead of them rising out of it like a mirage. The two assassins slid down the embankment and stole into the night.

Approaching the castle and gaining entry was quick and easy work. The Fang had done considerable reconnaissance beforehand, using its spies to map out the entire castle and record the schedules of all the guards and inhabitants. It was the dead of night, exactly two o' clock, during the changing over of the exterior guards. Legault had the first set of doors picked in a mere moment, and then they were on their way through the courtyard of the western wing.

Their target was James Everly-- the Duke of Rosenholm. The Fang had been monitoring the Duke's activities for months now. The man had garnered an impressive list of despicable crimes and exploitations of the local populace. However, as of late he had entered a whole new level of operation. With the substantial collection of royal vassals he had built up, he had constructed what had become an outright smalltime crime syndicate. His methods were blithely simple. He advertised openly and frequently among the townspeople, seeking to recruit the poorest and most desperate people in the southern valley. His claims were tempting to many; he would employ the poor, the sick, the needy, give them training, protection, a healthy income, and an incredibly admirable job working for one of the most powerful Dukes of the country. He was raising small armies to train and deploy to the Etrurian islands to help the local government get a handle on a bandit problem. They would help maintain strong diplomatic relations with their powerful Etrurian neighbors. They would finally earn a respectable income. They would make their families proud.

The recruits that were transported to the southern port town of Bern never returned. They were handed off to a group of bandits. They would then be packed into ships by the dozens, sent overseas to the Western Isles, and sold to slavers to be worked to death in the mines. Duke Rosenholm's claims were nothing but a shallow front for a human trafficking campaign-- something the King turned a blind eye to.

With the crown and the local nobles unwilling to protect their own people, the Black Fang was forced to take matters into their own hands.

The majority of the interior castle guards could be avoided with careful routing. Legault and Linus worked their way along the courtyard, past the vassal living quarters, and through the great hall. It was only when they reached the southwest antechamber that they needed to actually encounter someone. The guards posted here were directly in the path they needed to take. However, they had come prepared for this.

Pausing just outside the entry to the antechamber, Legault stepped aside and glanced back. He murmured very low;

"Looks like you're up, Linus."

 The man hefted his hand axe up, grinning wide.

"Finally."

With a powerful throw, the axe went spinning through the air as Linus leapt into the room. The weapon buried itself into the skull of one of the guards, and his ally barely had time to react before Linus' sword was drawn and he was upon him next. The fight was incredibly short-lived. Linus cut the man down and then moved on to the other two guards. Legault remained in the sidelines, watching. While the man made a little more racket than Legault would have preferred, there was no arguing with the results. When all four guards were on the floor, Linus turned and flashed a thumbs-up.

Legault stepped forward, smirking.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Battering Ram. I must admit I'm glad you're here."

Linus gave a short, unamused laugh.

"Gotta admit I'm not sure why you are. C'mon, let's get moving."

Legault frowned, but Linus was already climbing the tall spiral staircase. He followed behind him.

The light from the chandelier hanging from the ceiling cast eerie shadows over the walls. About halfway up the stairwell, a snaggle-toothed gargoyle was set into a shallow cubbyhole in the wall, grinning demonically out at them. The pair quietly ascended the remainder of the stairs and crept along the second-story hallway.

Their second brush with the guards was slightly more nerve-wracking. They needed to enter the room of the king's personal servants, a room that ultimately led to a hallway and then the royal bedchambers themselves. The men were not particularly numerous, but it was essential that they be taken out as quickly as possible. Legault looked up from the guard he'd just taken out, seeing Linus had already taken care of the others.

"Almost home free," Linus said as he wiped his blade clean,

"Guess you're up for the exciting part, big shot."

Legault shot Linus a mildly annoyed look.

"Hey, you have a problem with me being on this mission, Linus?"

The hero sheathed his sword, muttering.

"No. What gave you that idea?"

"I dunno, maybe when you said earlier you don't know why I'm here?"

"I didn't. . ." Linus paused, then shrugged.

"Look, don't get all bent outta shape. I just don't get why dad put you in charge of this."

"Ah. Well, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Told you not to get all hurt n' shit about it. You're not a bad guy, Legault. But you're . . . well . . . shrimpy."

"Shrimpy?" Legault blinked.

"Yeah. Don't think you're really cut out for this kind of work. You're stealthy and handy with a lockpick, sure, but takes more than that. We ain't just burgling here. You need guts. You need some brawn."

"Right. I'll take a note to do some bench-presses when we get back. Will that make you happy? In the meantime, I'd like to get on with things, if you don't mind."

Linus gestured.

"Be my guest."

Legault crept forward, leaving Linus to wait for him back in the servant's quarters. The remainder of the trip was a short one; down the corridor, through the outer room, and then finally at the doors to the royal bedchambers. It was a simple lockpick, similar to the ones Legault had done dozens and dozens of times before.

Slowly, gingerly, Legault opened the door. He slipped into the dark room.

The duke was sleeping soundly. It was almost laughably easy. Legault knew months of reconnaissance and work beforehand had gone into this, so it was only easy because they had worked hard to make it so; but it still seemed almost oddly anticlimactic to him. He slinked forward and approached the duke, dagger drawn. He felt a rush of nervous anticipation. This was to be his first actual assassination.

In a rapid, single motion, Legault grabbed hold of the duke, dagger at his throat, hand clamped over his mouth. The portly man spasmed in bed for a moment, before his eyes widened in horror as he felt the steel at this throat.

Legault spoke in a low, quiet voice to him, barely above a whisper.

"I am here to deliver the Fang's judgment."

He took a breath.

"James Everly, you are guilty of gross crimes against the citizenry of Bern. Your crimes include extortion, physical assault, kidnapping, fraud, sexual assault, and murder. The courts have refused to bring you to justice, but the people still have demand for it. In the name of the people of Bern and the Black Fang, I sentence you to death."

 Legault tightened his grip on the dagger, preparing himself. He swallowed.

Then he hesitated. Something about the terror in the man's eye made him stop. He knew this man was truly, truly horrible, but it was still . . . difficult.

Legault released some of the pressure on the dagger, ever-so-slightly. In a hesitant tone, he asked quietly;

"Do you have any last words you wish to give? I promise you that they will be passed along."

The duke continued to stare in terror, but after a moment he seemed to try to nod.

Legault lifted a hand from his mouth, still keeping the dagger by his throat.

For a moment, the duke said nothing. He seemed paralyzed in fear.

Then he screamed.

"HELP! HEL--"

Legault slit his throat, silencing him. He cursed in the quiet, dark room:

"Damnit."

Bounding quickly to his feet, he rushed from the room and back out into the servant's quarters, where Linus practically bowled him over. The hero hissed at him,

"What the hell happened, Mr. Stealthy?! You had _one_ job."

"I-- I asked him if he had any last words."

"Oh, for the love of . . . c'mon, let's move and pray we're lucky."

They hurried back out into the hall, but fortune didn't seem to favor the pair that night. Some of the other servants upstairs had been roused, spotting the assassins as soon as they entered the hallway. The servants cried out and scattered as the two gave chase. Legault managed to stop one, but the others were too far away-- as one servant reached the far end of the hall, he yanked a cord hanging from the wall. A bell boomed, the sound reverberating enormously throughout the castle. Linus stuck a blade in the man, but by then it was far too late.

"Shit, okay, just run!"

The two scrambled along the hall and down the spiral stairwell, then sprinted across the antechamber. Just as Linus was about to charge out the southern exit, Legault grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Hold it, wait! There's about fifty men coming from that direction, check the window, Linus. We're not getting out there."

Linus growled and they darted across the room, making for the other set of doors to the east. They shot a look through the windows first.

"Shit. Oh, shit. Legault, I think we're fucked."

"Good gracious, it's like half of Bern out there."

Linus pulled his sword from its scabbard and gripped it nervously.

"Guess it's time for a last stand. Take down as many as we can with us, yeah?"

"Linus, that's suicide."

"Of course it's suicide! We're _fucked_ , Legault. We're not walking away from this one."

Legault paced back into the center of the antechamber, looking around frantically.

"I'm not giving up that easily. There's always another option."

"Unless you know some magic spells and can conjure us out of here, then no, I don't think so."

Legault gazed at the stairwell a moment, then bounded toward it.

"Over here, c'mon."

"There's nowhere to go up there!"

"I know that, just follow me."

Linus chased Legault up the staircase, cursing loudly.

"We're not gonna be able to hide, Legault, there's too many of them. Just face things like a man, will you?"

Legault had paused in the middle of the stairwell, studying the gargoyle set into the wall. He grabbed at the statue a moment, tugging.

". . . what the hell are you doing?"

The man huffed in frustration, unable to budge the thing. He turned quickly to Linus.

"Can you help me move this?"

"Why?"

"Just _help_ me, all right?!"

Linus spat "Son of a bitch" under his breath, but to Legault's immense relief, he didn't argue further, instead saying,

"Fine, just get out of the way."

The hero wrapped both arms around the stone statue, tugging and straining. It scraped and slid awkwardly along, and after a few moments of it being wedged sideways, Linus yanked it free from the nook and pulled it out, letting it thunk onto the steps below.

"You want me to throw this at them? I don't think that'll help much."

Legault hopped nimbly up into the shallow nook set into the wall. He turned and grabbed at the pair of daggers in his belt, unsheathing them.

"No, I want you to go upstairs and wait. Take that thing with you, if you can manage it, just to get it out of sight."

Linus stared at him.

"What do you plan on doing, Legault, take out the whole army yourself?! I'm not going anywhere."

Legault settled into a ready stance.

"You know Lloyd would kill me if I let anything happen to his little brother. I've got a good position here, all right?"

"You're utterly mad."

"Just go. I'll thin them out as best I can, you can pick off the rest that make it up. Please, Linus."

The hero glowered a moment, but he seemed to give into Legault's pleading eyes. In a softer tone, he answered.

"All right, Legault. If this is how you want to die, I'm not gonna stand in the way of last requests."

The man wrapped his arms around the statue again and, with a mighty yank, hefted it up completely over a shoulder, then climbed the remainder of the staircase. Legault drew as far back into the shallow nook as the space would allow, poised and ready.

Then he listened and waited.

The army of royal guards had been advancing all the while, the roar of their approach like angry waves. It did not take long for them to burst upon the antechamber, perhaps only seconds after Legault and Linus finished speaking. He could hear them fan out and search the room, sweeping over it. When the tide of men had completely consumed the downstairs, the fierce echo of clattering metal filled the spiral stairwell, ringing in his ears. The twisting shriek of metal and pounding feet rose up through the space, increasing in fervor and volume at their approach. Legault could not see the men from his position; the twist of the staircase was tight and would not reveal anyone until they were practically upon him. However, the reverse was also true. Tucked inside the shallow nook in the wall, the approaching men would not know of Legault until he sprang upon them, and even then, only small numbers at a time would be able to see him and fight, the remainder still trapped behind in the bottleneck of the stairwell.

It was just enough of an advantage that Legault thought he might be able to last for a little while. But as his teeth began to rattle from the armies climbing the stairs, and his knuckles turned white from gripping his daggers, he could not help but think of the sheer volume of men he'd seen out the window. Even with his advantage, he was still one man raging against the storm.

Without time to ponder it further, Legault saw the first of the men lurch into view, black armor gleaming in the light of the chandelier, a bronze lance pointing skyward as he marched.

Legault leapt from his perch and pounced, sending a dagger deep into the man's throat. The man crumbled before him, the other soldier beside him crying out in shock and swinging his lance. Legault ducked and sunk a dagger into the second man's windpipe. The lanceman gurgled and stumbled backward, falling into the soldiers climbing the stairs below him.

Yanking his blade free, Legault hopped back onto his perch and prepared for the next strike. It came only moments later, the next guards stumbling into view, swords raised. Legault lashed out with his dagger, felling the first one, then jumped upon the second one, crashing the two of them against the wall. He yanked both daggers free from the man and twisted about to face what was next.

The thief was able to keep up this pattern for a little while, picking men off two by two as they ascended, but it didn't take long for the castle guards to catch wise. The men were pounding up the stairs, trying to rush him. Legault had to quickly abandon using the nook entirely and remained in the stairwell to fight. The trouble for the guards was that the position was still incredibly cramped, the spiral stairwell forcing only a limited number of men at a time. With the space becoming choked with fallen bodies, the bottleneck only grew worse for them. For a time, it felt like Legault really had things under control. Ducking and weaving the cacophony of weapons, he slipped in and out, hitting each of his marks and chipping away the army's steady approach. The pace was almost manageable.

Then things started to turn away from Legault's favor. Up until now, he'd been taking advantage of the general disarray of the guards. However, it seemed someone further down the wall of men had started to pull the group together more. The guards pushed forward with a renewed sense of organization. They began to yank their fallen comrades from the stairs and push the bodies over the railing, sending them tumbling downward and freeing up the space. They began to move in coordinated waves, the swordmen rushing forward together, the lancers jutting their weapons in from the rear, working to maximize their space.

The area became flooded in a sea of blades. Everywhere Legault turned, every inch of space, there was something else seeking to destroy him. He moved frantically, spinning, twisting, leaping.

A strange sort of calmness began to wash over him, eventually consuming his mind completely. The battle on the stairwell in that castle seemed to fade away, sounds muffling, the harsh angles of reality softening. He no longer felt as though he was really there; his body moved, reacting, faster and faster, action without thought. He brought his weapons about and sent them crashing down, again and again, every moment in motion. He didn't feel the strikes so much as he simply moved with them. He was vaguely aware of the blades and men he was avoiding, yes, but it was all but flotsam and jetsam on the breeze; he glided past them and carried on striking.

Something sharp, a sword blade he supposed, raked across his face, slicing it open from forehead to jaw, but he barely even registered the pain. Without pause, he simply struck down his foe, then moved on to the next. The ground became littered with the fallen, but it was merely more debris to avoid. With both daggers in hand, Legault jerked his wrists back, sending the blades spinning in the air. The handles landed neatly back in his hands, and he dove forward, sending both daggers into the man in front of him with shattering intensity. He had moved on once again within the same breath, sending the next men splintering and collapsing to the ground.

Over the course of events, Legault must have climbed further and further down the stairs, because he ultimately found himself at the bottom of the flight of steps. The remains of the royal army choked the stairwell in his wake, and he pushed on to the men that still filled the room below. He did not know how long it took. He knew only that he kept moving. The air swirled in lavender, and men dropped, each in turn. The daggers that came for them struck with an instantaneous and extreme force, like savage purple lightning.

Eventually, the room fell silent.

It was only then that Legault stopped moving; the moment he did, he felt reality rushing back to him. It was dizzying and overwhelming, a feeling of nausea climbing in his throat. He felt his knees buckle and the world slipped into darkness.

Regaining consciousness again was a deeply unpleasant experience. Legault's head was pounding, and he struggled to pry his eyes open. He could feel he was being supported on either side of him, his arms wrapped around broad shoulders, his legs dragging as he was pulled along.

Somebody was shouting, although in Legault's pounding head, it sounded tinny and distant.

"What on this good sweet earth happened out there?!"

Legault's face grimaced in pain, but some part of him registered the voice had belonged to Brendan Reed. He was carried forth further, and then mercifully set down upon something soft. He leaned hard against the back of a chair.

"You, fetch a healer. Be quick about it!"

"Sorry, dad. Things got a little . . . messy."

"I can see that. You brought my new recruit back with more of his blood on the outside than on the inside."

"Eh, only about half of that's his, actually."

"Linus. What happened?"

There was a creaking sound as Linus dropped down in a seat next to Legault.

"Well. It was pretty smooth sailing most of the way. We got the target without any problems."

Legault could feel his mind drifting toward unconsciousness again, and he battled to stay awake. He forced his eyes open, wincing at the harsh light.

"Then we . . . ah . . . well, one of the servants gave me the slip. Rang the alarm, sent a thousand of hades' forces knocking down the doors on us, just about. We were dead."

A gentle humming noise and a soft, soothing sensation whirled by Legault's head. He blinked at a cool blue light and realized it was the cleric. He was a long way off from the healing staff letting him spring back, but at least the horrible pain in his head abated just slightly.

"Looking not too bad for dead men, I suppose."

"Well, Legault wouldn't let things go, kept insisting he'd fight. I thought he was a goddamn fool. But I let him have what he wanted."

Linus shot a look over to Legault. He shook his head and laughed.

"I don't even know what to say, dad."

He gazed out steadily, as if replaying things in his mind.

"They just kept coming and coming. But he wouldn't stop. Never even seen Lloyd move that fast before. He was like . . . gods. Every last one of them. By the time he'd stopped, every last one was on the ground. It was like-- like a hurricane had torn through things. I couldn't even believe it."

Brendan Reed had been listening with a serious expression on his grizzled face. He now turned to the man standing beside him.

"Lloyd, is any of this madness he's spouting true?"

The swordmaster folded his arms and looked at him.

"Well . . . took me a while to get to them. But by the time I'd reached these two, yeah. All the guards were down. Didn't see it happen, but Legault was standing in the thick of it, soaked head to toe in blood. Just collapsed then."

"Hmmm," Reed murmured thoughtfully. Legault had been struggling to retain consciousness and follow the discussion, the cleric's staff still humming busily in his face. He could see Brenden Reed's eyes fall upon him, and a wry smile tug at the older man's face.

Reed's hand dropped upon Legault's shoulder. The gesture was an affectionate one, though Legault had to fight the urge to yelp in pain.

"Well, Hurricane," the man said warmly,

"Looks like you pulled this botched mission out somehow."

 

 

The chill of the snow had been all but forgotten as Heath had sat at rapt attention to Legault's story. Now that he was finished, he studied the man in the light of the dying fire.

"I'd always wondered where the scars came from," he murmured quietly.

Legault quirked a smile at him.

"I usually just tell people I was trying to open a jar with my dagger."

Heath chuckled.

"All this time, and I don't know if I'll ever truly understand you."

"Mm. How do you mean?"

The wyvern rider pulled one of the nearby logs they'd collected and set it into the fire.

"You never fail an opportunity to self-deprecate, and I still can't understand why. With something like that in your past? Sounds to me like people had every reason to consider you formidable."

Legault shook his head, his gaze returning to the flames.

"But they really don't have reason. My success was incredibly circumstantial. Sure, I managed to survive freakish odds, but only because I was able to bottleneck the vast majority of their numbers. That situation was unique. That night-- it . . . it wasn't a repeatable event."

He brought his eyes up to Heath, swirling with his doubts.

"Heath, I've had to live in the shadow of that damned night ever since. Knowing it wasn't something I would ever approach again, that the praise people lavished on me wasn't really deserved. It's lightning in a bottle, Heath. I wasn't capturing that again. Maybe, in the moment . . . I had something. I found some sort of bizarre well of strength and ability. But then it was tapped. One night's stupid stunts and luck can't stand in for genuine skill, no matter how dramatic a legend they make."

Heath gazed steadily at Legault. A smile slowly formed on his face.

"What . . . what are you smiling about?"

The knight answered gently.

"Your blindness."

 Legault raised his brows at him, but didn't speak. Heath continued, voice soft and low.

"Of course it wasn't a repeatable event, Legault. Every situation is unique. What you do is far better than merely repeating things. Gods, Legault . . . don't you see that? You're clever enough to think on your feet a thousand times quicker than I ever could."

The thief grumbled, glancing away, but Heath carried on, voice growing earnest.

"You know how I managed to drag you out of that mess tonight with the Black Fang? I asked myself what you'd try to pull off in my place. And it was the only time in my life my mind managed to spit out some quick piece of planning like that. But that's something you do practically every damn day. Never in years would half the things you do even occur to me."

"Look, there's no need for rampant exaggeration, Heath."

Heath laughed.

"I don't even need to do that. You're so convinced that so much of what you do comes down to luck. Once or twice is luck, Legault. What happened for me tonight was luck. You? Pulling something off like that over and over? That isn't luck. You need proof of that, just look at what you did here tonight."

Legault frowned, answering in a voice still laced with uncertainty.

"What? Bungle the pickpocketing and barely get us out alive?"

"You saved my ass about fifty times tonight, you _daft man_. And then killed a psychopath in one-on-one combat? Just . . . look, when Jerme was running at you and you were injured and defenseless on the ground, was it just accidental that you came out on top? You knew exactly what to do and when. Just because he fell on his own sword doesn't mean you didn't defeat him."

Legault picked at a twig on the ground.

"Well, um. He . . . didn't really fall on his sword, technically."

Heath peered at him.

"What do you mean?"

Legault mumbled,

"I kind of had to . . . twist his wrist around a little. Help things along a tad."

Heath stared. He summarized:

"So . . . injured and defenseless on the ground, and you still managed to kill Jerme with his own sword."

"I . . . well. I mean, when you put it like that, I guess I sound almost competent."

Heath released another laugh. He leaned back and shook his head again.

"You once told me it was a shallow and unimpressive bag of tricks you had. But the truth is, I envy your endless flexibility and adaptation. I think out of anyone I've met, nothing else has come even close to keeping me more on my toes."

Legault looked up at him, his brow crumpling. He went to speak, but stopped a moment, swallowing.

"I . . . damnit, Heath. You sure know how to crash a pity party."

Heath smiled at him affectionately.

 "Sorry."

Legault smiled back.

"It's all right. Moping doesn't really suit me anyway."

Heath chuckled, using his lance to stoke the fire.

"I'm glad you've decided that. Besides, it's more my job."

The thief shifted out of his cross-legged position, wincing slightly from his injuries, but then draping himself around the fire like a cat seeking to soak up the maximum amount of heat.

"Mmm, well, I suppose since we've had the chance to warm up a little now, we could push on again, if you'd like."

Heath considered it a moment and then admitted,

"I really don't want to. I'm not even sure if it would be wise."

Legault settled a chin into one of his palms.

"Yeah. I suppose it has been a pretty long night."

Heath nodded, silently agreeing. After a little bit, Legault added,

"And anyway, I wasn't the only one skirting death and facing old demons tonight, it seems."

The knight glanced down, but didn't reply.

"Those wyvern lords really had it in for you. Looked like they wanted more than just collecting a bounty, too.  Seemed almost like a personal grudge."

"It was the first time I'd seen any of them," Heath answered quietly. Legault studied him.

"Yes? Well . . . they sure seemed to get under your skin. I didn't really catch most of what they were saying, but . . ."

He hesitated, but then continued.

"I did hear them saying something about your old friends."

Heath's expression darkened and he felt himself recoil a little. He was about to growl something dismissive, but when he looked up again, he stopped. The man peering back at him from across the fire-- not long ago, he'd have no trouble snapping at him. No trouble walling him out.

He found he held zero desire in his heart to do that now.

He released a breath.

"My former Commander and the band of mercenaries were not the only ones in my past to have betrayed me," he said softly.

The thief watched him silently. When Heath said no more, he asked,

"How do you mean?"

Heath glanced into the fire.

"It . . . it was sometime after my wingmates and I had reached Lycia and gone our separate ways."

He smiled self-consciously.

"If we're going to be swapping old stories, I suppose I may as well tell it. But I'm afraid it's nowhere near as exciting as yours."

"Still," Legault murmured to him,

"I'd like to hear it anyway."

Heath nodded.

 

 

The cool condensation had beaded all along the outside of the glass mug and the foamy head of the ale had started to sag, but the man wearing a stern expression continued to ignore the drink. Instead, he stared tensely across the busy pub from his solitary position in a booth in the corner. He had been sitting there expectantly for over an hour by now. At some point, a server had come by and asked if he needed anything, but he'd simply growled at them and scared them off.

Letting his eyes slip shut, Heath sighed. He was beginning to suspect no one was going to show up.

It was an incredibly small, backwater town in Araphen. The village was little more than a handful of houses, a church and the public house he was currently sitting in. It seemed the perfect meeting location, far from Bern patrols and probably the last place anyone would suspect them to be hiding out. Heath and his wingmates had agreed exactly one month ago to try and find each other again here. They had split and gone their own ways when first reaching the Lycian border, hoping that it would increase the odds of at least some of them surviving. The hope was that whoever still lived would be able to reunite again in this little town, at 8:00 in their only pub.

Heath honestly had no idea what to expect. The past month had been pure chaos. Between trying to escape the patrols, avoid conspicuous areas, attempting to scrape up enough money to eat, and constantly staying on the move and watching his back, Heath didn't have time to wonder what had befallen his friends. He had no way of knowing whether they had fared better or worse than him. Heath had several close calls with Bern patrols already, as well as a number of smaller problems with locals, so if his experience was anything to go by, his wingmates were in for a rough time. It was entirely possible he was the sole survivor at this point.

The thought filled him with dread. Life on the run had been positively miserable. He was a long, long way from his family and his home, wandering a new strange town every day. The idea of being completely alone now-- without even his wingmates to share in his outcast-- was simply chilling. Heath had belonged somewhere his whole life. He'd always felt at home in his country and with the Bern military. All of that had changed so suddenly. A day hadn't gone by when he hadn't wished things were back to the way they'd used to be. At least, to the way things were _supposed_ to be. Back when Heath could still believe his military career and his country were things he could be proud of.

The wyvern rider was so absorbed in his unpleasant musings that he almost missed seeing the man in dark violet armor stepping into the stuffy pub. Heath's head snapped up and he almost leapt to his feet and shouted, but he forced himself to stay calm. Patiently, he waited until the man's eye cast around the room and fell upon his booth in the corner, and then he gestured at him. The man's eyes lit up upon seeing Heath. He made his way over.

"Isaac," Heath said in a forced quiet tone, rising to his feet. He grasped the younger man's shoulder and squeezed, smiling warmly at him. He wanted to throw his arms about him and thank the gods he was still alive, but he refrained from such a dramatic display. Even in such a small town, it wasn't wise drawing undue attention to themselves.

"Hey, Heath. Glad to see you're still around and kicking. I was worried I'd be drinking alone tonight."

"Rest easy. They can't get rid of me that easily."

Heath ushered the man to sit, and they both settled into the booth.

Heath took a moment to study the familiar man-- wispy orange hair, narrow face, bright eyes-- who was the youngest of his wingmates. Isaac had always been full of so much energy, probably the most boisterous of the group. A bit inexperienced and hotheaded, but as fiercely loyal and hard-working as the rest of them. He had always been dear to Heath, as all his fellow wingmates were. They'd been working together in the same unit for a very long time, since Heath had first taken his knighthood oaths-- trained and grown up together. It was inaccurate to say Heath's wingmates were simply _like_ brothers to him. In truth, they were as much brothers to him as flesh and blood.

"Sorry I was late, by the way. I got a little caught up with some business and it delayed my departure for Araphen."

"What matters is that you are here now. Do you know if any of the others are on their way? I know it's a long shot, but . . ."

"Actually, yeah. They aren't coming, but I'm here on their behalf. I've been in communication with them."

 Heath gave him a surprised, searching look.

"Indeed? How did you manage that?"

Isaac leaned back in the booth and flashed a self-satisfied grin.

"It wasn't easy, I can tell you that. But we've been cooking up something special you're gonna want to hear about."

Heath frowned.

"What is it?"

A waiter paused by their booth and asked if Isaac wanted anything. The young wyvern rider waved the waiter away impatiently. He then glanced around the pub.

"You sure this is a safe place to be discussing things?"

Heath chuckled mildly.

"Isaac, I can't imagine a more remote town in Lycia. So long as you don't start shouting, I'm sure it's fine."

The man leaned in, his eyes sparkling.

"I'm getting us out of here, Heath," he said in an excited hush.

"What? What do you mean?"

_"We can go back home."_

Heath stared at him.

"I don't understand. How? Wh-- where?"

Isaac continued to speak just above a whisper.

"I've been working out a deal with a special contact of mine in Bern. It's taken a lot of careful orchestrating, but they're going to arrange a pardon for us. All charges will be dropped. We'll finally be free, Heath. No more living like hunted vermin."

Heath couldn't believe it. This was too good to be true.

"How on earth did you . . . Isaac, are you sure? I don't see how that's even possible."

Isaac nodded firmly.

"It's possible. They're a very powerful group, working with the Dragon Generals themselves. Not only do they promise a pardon, but they're going to reinstate us entirely."

"Reinstate us?" Heath echoed.

"Yes. We can fly once again in Bern's skies without fears. It'll be like this was all just a bad dream. We can go back to the way things were, before this whole mess began."

Heath slumped back in his seat.

"I . . . but Isaac, is that something we can even do?"

 "Trust me, Heath, I've been working on this every waking and sleeping moment. I know it sounds risky, but I've been taking every precaution. I _know_ we can do it. It's going to work. This isn't some trap, this is the real deal--"

"No, that isn't what I mean. I mean, yes, I have concerns about that as well, of course. But even if it wasn't a trap, would we really want our old jobs back, our old lives back? I can't just go back and pretend like nothing ever happened."

"Why not? I don't know about you, but I'm tired of mopping peasants' shacks for pocket change so I can buy a shriveled turnip for lunch and then spend the rest of the evening running for the next shithole of a town."

Heath scowled at his wingmate.

"I haven't been relishing my time here either, but I think even this is preferable to returning to the knighthood. After what we learned that day? It . . . the level of corruption we saw was beyond reprehensible."

Isaac shook his head.

"Are you really going to let the crimes of one man keep you from returning home? From seeing your family again? From living your _life_ again?"

Heath gripped at the table in front of him.

"But it wasn't just one man! That was only the tip of the iceberg. Don't you remember what Vaida said? About how she's been watching the Bern knights degrade over time? We always knew things were not as great as they once were, but we had been blinded to just how bad . . . until that day finally opened our eyes. We all agreed, Isaac! We all agreed the knighthood has become a farce."

Isaac crossed his arms and snapped back at him.

"Yes, well, I'd rather live a farce then whatever it is we're doing now. At least then I'd be living something. What we've been doing in Lycia is little more then existing, if even that."

"We've been surviving. Perhaps that is enough for now."

"Not all of us have been," Isaac answered darkly. Heath gazed at him.

"What do you mean?"

Isaac stared off into nothingness.

"Lachius is dead," he said bluntly. His brown gaze shifted back to Heath.

"The Bern patrols got him just outside Tania ten days ago. They didn't even try to take him back alive, give him a chance to bid his family goodbye. They just cut him down. Left him to rot in some field."

Heath swallowed, pushing back against a wave of nausea. Isaac's eyes were glinting in fear.

"So forgive me if I'm a little motivated, Heath. Lachius was quicker and cleverer than any of us. If they can get to him, it's only a matter of time before the rest of us get hunted down. I'm not going to just wait around for that to happen."

Heath's voice softened a little.

"But is this really the solution you want? To climb back into the nest of the very men who would hunt down our friends and slaughter them like animals? Those men are monsters. I . . . I could never bring myself to serve with them again."

Isaac looked at him almost pleadingly.

"It might be time to swallow your pride, Heath. Sometimes we have to deal with something a little distasteful in order to get by in life. I don't want to do this without you. And besides, I've already agreed we'd all meet with them to discuss the final details. The wheels are already in motion. I don't . . . I don't think the Black Fang would take very kindly to me changing my mind."

Heath balked.

"The Black Fang? Are you out of your _mind?!"_

Isaac hissed at him,

"Keep your voice down, for gods' sake! You want the whole continent to hear us?"

Heath dropped his voice but carried on in an angry tone.

"You're an even bigger fool then I gave you credit for. How could you even consider working for those vile assassins?"

"I don't have a choice, all right? None of us do. This isn't about what we'd prefer, this is about sheer survival."

Heath crossed his arms and replied frostily.

"If the cost of our survival is every last one of our principles, then that cost is too high. Gods, listen to yourself, Isaac. What do you think Vaida would say if she were here?"

Isaac sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh, Heath. Who do you think my contact in Bern is for all of this?"

"W-what?! You're lying. Vaida would never approve of this nonsense!"

"It was her _idea_. She's with the Black Fang now. They gave her her old position back. She does them some favors, and in exchange, she gets to keep her title and stay flying in Bern's skies."

"I . . . I don't believe you. She would never . . ."

"She would and she has. I spoke with her myself. Look, I know it's hard to hear, but even the Commander realizes compromises have to be made--"

Heath growled,

"Is that what she says to the people she murders for the Black Fang? Is that what you want me to say to the survivors of the families that we watched get slaughtered by our brethren?"

Isaac snapped at him, the anger quavering in his voice.

"It's time to start facing facts, Heath. The world does not operate on gentle hopes and dreams. It turns on bitter practicality and cold, hard survival. We can't afford to let our foolish yearning for a better, more idyllic Bern get in the way anymore. That kind of thinking is what landed us in this mess in the first place."

"What the hell are you even saying? It sounds to me like you think it was a mistake to step in and stop the atrocities we were witnessing."

Isaac went silent a moment, his expression conflicted. In a quiet voice, he answered,

"If we had grit our teeth and looked the other way, then at least we wouldn't be stuck here now, fighting for our lives. Perhaps it was a mistake to--"

"Leave my sight, Isaac."

The young wyvern rider glowered at him.

"If you don't come with me, you'll be consigning yourself to death, Heath."

"I'd sooner die then live a coward's life like you."

Isaac paused, his brown eyes full of sorrow.

"Heath . . . brother. Please."

 Heath returned his gaze.

"Leave me."

"Fine," Isaac replied hotly, rising from his seat,

"But know this: if we somehow meet again, we will be on opposing sides. And you should not expect mercy from me. I won't throw things away because of your damned pigheadedness."

"That suits me fine," Heath snarled. Isaac stared at him a moment longer, as if wanting to say more. But then he just turned.

"Goodbye, Heath," he said, walking away from the booth.

 

 

The wyvern knight stared steadily into the fire.

"It was a few months later I received word that the Bern fugitives had been captured and executed  along the Pherae border by Black Fang operatives," he said.

"The wyvern lords we fought tonight were the ones responsible."

Legault gazed quietly at him. He spoke softly.

"I'm sorry."

Heath glanced up to him.

"They mentioned Commander Vaida tried to stop it, so she was not to blame for their deaths, as I had originally assumed. But she apparently failed."

Legault seemed to ponder things for a while.

"Do you know why it went wrong? Why . . . they decided not to recruit your wingmates into their ranks?"

Heath shook his head.

"I don't know. Perhaps to curry favor with the Bern government. The wyvern lords didn't say much, just that they were bad at serving the Fang, or settling their unfinished businesses or something. I think they were just looking for excuses to slaughter them."

The thief seemed to perk up a little.

"Wait, settling unfinished business? That's what they said?"

Heath shrugged.

"Something along those lines. It didn't really make sense."

"Hold on. Think back, Heath. Do you remember the exact words they used?"

Heath frowned.

"Maybe? Does it matter?"

"It might. Just . . . try to remember."

The knight's eyes flickered to the fire and he thought back to earlier that night.

_"I don't blame you. They were quite pathetic, crawling to the Black Fang to beg for their positions back. Just like their intrepid commander, eh? So sentimental over saving a few villagers one moment but the next all too happy to do anything to save their own skins. Funny how that works."_

_The man laughed._

_"Then the fools refused to tie up their loose ends for us. They would have been spared otherwise. Lucky for you, though, I suppose. Not that it matters now."_

_Heath spat,_

_"What on earth are you talking about?"_

_"Just that your dear friends were as useless at serving the Fang as they were at serving their own countrymen."_

"He said that they refused to tie up their loose ends, and would have been spared otherwise."

Legault nodded.

"That's what I was hoping to hear."

"I don't understand. Why is this so important?"

The thief drew up from his reclined position and looked at Heath soberly.

"Well, I could be wrong about this, but it sounds like something the Fang started doing with their new recruits. It started around my last days with them, when Nergal and his people had really gained a stranglehold on things . . . they were really looking to bulk up their numbers."

He shook his head,

"Anyway, the woman that had Brendan Reed completely under her thrall-- Sonia-- had devised it. Before becoming a full-fledged member, you needed to tie up any loose ends you might have. That's what she always called it. She claimed it was to prove your loyalty and to remove any potential liabilities for the Fang."

Legault glanced up at Heath.

"It involved luring in family or friends so they could be killed. The Fang was to be their only family now, she'd say. Kept things clean and simple for the Fang to operate that way, and removed the possibility of recruits having their loyalties divided."

Heath frowned in thought. Legault continued,

"At first, of course, she wasn't quite so blatant. She only claimed it necessary for people that might pose a serious risk to the Fang being exposed. But eventually it became the habit to do it for all new recruits, sort of an initiation."

Heath studied him.

"So you believe they asked my wingmates to do this?"

Legault nodded.

"I do. And apparently they refused and died for it. I know you were . . . disappointed in them, but it sounds like they were willing to die instead of handing over the lives of others. An honorable death, for what it's worth. Maybe it doesn't make up for everything, but not everyone would be willing to make that trade."

Heath stared into the fire, thoughts swirling.

"The . . . the wyvern lord said something about their deaths being lucky for me. It hadn't made sense at the time, but . . ."

Legault replied in an understanding tone.

"Ah. Yeah."

Heath looked intensely at him.

"They died protecting _me?"_

Legault looked hesitant.

"As I said, I could be wrong, but . . . it would explain a lot."

Heath turned his intense gaze back into the fire. Legault spoke gently,

"It sounds like your commander was trying to do the right thing too, in the end, trying to save them."

The wyvern knight shook his head, frustrated.

"I don't understand. If she felt that way, then why . . .? Why did she join them? Why did she lure my wingmates in to be dragged down with her?"

Legault frowned.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, I wish I had something more useful for you to help explain things."

Another piece of memory ran across Heath's mind as he struggled to make sense of it.

"They even said that she often defied Nergal-- none of it makes any sense. If she was so loyal to him, why would she defy him?"

"Maybe she wasn't actually loyal to him at all."

Heath gestured emphatically.

"But she was! She told me herself. It was with her damned dying breaths."

Legault looked puzzled.

"I thought . . . well, er, she just said something uncharitable about you."

Heath shook his head,

"Yes, yes, but just before that.  She claimed she had failed Bern's last hope."

The thief pondered this a moment.

"You're sure she meant Nergal?"

Heath looked at him.

"Who else would she mean?"

Legault studied their fire a moment, thinking. He was quiet for a few beats. Then he glanced down, prodding at the Emblem still hanging from his neck.

"Well . . .there's always the prince, I suppose."

 Heath blinked.

"I . . ."

He slowly closed his eyes. He spoke gently.

"Damn it . . ."

"What is it?"

Heath opened his eyes, regarding the man sitting across the fire. He shook his head at his own foolishness.

"I don't know why it did not occur to me before. She . . . she never spoke outright about a loyalty to the prince, but she always spoke of him with a certain kindness in her voice. And she would never suffer fools who spoke ill of him."

Legault studied the polished stone, its flecks of red glinting in the firelight.

"So she was privately working with his interests in heart."

Heath sighed.

"That's why she told me I was as dumb as wyvern feed. And why she spoke of making sacrifices for the greater good. She must have thought going along with the Fang, letting them restore her position . . . it would be worth it if she could one day do something useful with it."

The wyvern rider stared off into the darkness of the night. It was all so much to take in at once. His head was swimming.

"Hey, Heath . . . look, you couldn't have known. She obviously worked hard to hide her true motives. I hope you don't blame yourself for . . ."

Heath laughed humorlessly, turning his gaze back to the fire.

"I don't know. I suppose I am to blame, or perhaps I am not. Perhaps I am also to blame for my wingmates' deaths. If I had been more aware . . . more . . . willing to listen. To . . . to compromise."

Legault sighed. He looked as if he were wrestling with deep thoughts. He spoke up.

"I know I can't give you an easy answer, Heath, but I can speak from experience from being in some pretty complicated situations. They made their choices, and you made yours. It put you on opposing sides, and that is incredibly, incredibly awful. But you did the only thing you could do. You stayed true to your heart. You have . . . no idea how much I admire that. There was a time . . ."

He swallowed, glancing down, and looked almost ill a moment. He pushed through it and forced on,

"There was a time I chose safety and loyalty to the Fang over what I knew in my heart to be right. It is a regret that I'll carry for the rest of my life. That's a weight I deserve to carry, that I need to-- to remind me. To remind me to never do again."

He lifted his eyes back up to Heath.

"You don't need to carry that weight. You never wavered. You stuck with your principles. Don't regret that, Heath. Please never do."

The knight gazed at him for a moment, considering his words.

"I'll try."

Legault settled in close to the fire again.

"That's all I ask."

The night fell into silence after that, with only the crackle and pop of the flames. Eventually, Legault slipped into a doze, while Heath continued to tend the fire, gradually feeding it from their supply. The knight was also exhausted, but his thoughts were still too busy churning to allow him to sleep. When the pile of spare wood had started to dwindle, Heath rose and moved to the nearby trees, gathering up what meager offerings he could from them. When he'd returned, he found Legault had woken. The thief smiled gently at him as he settled back down by the fire and set a new log into place.

"Sorry I zoned out on you."

Heath used his lance to push the log further into the blaze.

"Go back to sleep. You're more injured than I."

Legault smiled lazily.

"Ah, I'm all right. Besides, ground's not very cozy for catnapping."

The fire sparked and popped, reluctantly accepting the green wood Heath had added.

Quietly, Legault asked,

"How are you doing?"

Heath glanced up at him. He smiled faintly.

"I'm all right. Just . . . a lot to process."

Legault chuckled dryly.

"Yeah. No kidding."

He stretched a little, wincing as he did so.

"Wish we had some of that mead around now or something. Would probably take the edge off things."

Heath nodded. A number of minutes passed in silence.

Eventually, the wyvern knight felt like giving voice to the thoughts that he'd been chasing around his mind.

"I've spent so much time being angry," he said. Legault glanced up at him.

"So angry at everyone I perceived as having betrayed me . . . that I never really had the chance to mourn their loss."

Heath smiled sadly.

"I feel like now I finally do."

Legault answered quietly.

"I'm sorry."

Heath was still lost deep in his thoughts. After a bit, he exhaled a silent, single laugh.

"It's funny. It's probably hard for you to imagine, but I used to be incredibly trusting. I placed my faith so deeply in the knighthood and in the people I knew. I cared so much for my colleagues. I was so warm to them."

He looked up to the man watching him with lavender eyes.

"After my exile from Bern, and everything that had happened, I lost all that. It was beaten out of me. I grew to believe that kind of pain was inevitable. That eventually, everyone would turn on me."

He paused, glancing away.

"Perhaps I was wrong to assume it."

Legault was looking upon him with kind eyes.

"There are still some good souls out there, Heath. I honestly do believe that. I hope what you've learned tonight might help give you a little bit of that faith back."

Heath looked to him.

"I believe you are right. But not because my wingmates had a change of heart, or my commander had hoped to better things."

Legault looked puzzled.

"What do you mean, then?"

The knight shook his head.

"I used to think the only way I would be at peace again was if the past wrongs had never happened, or if they were somehow atoned for. But now that I know they have . . . I've realized that was never what I actually needed."

He glanced back up to Legault and paused. Then he gave him a subtle smile.

"All I really needed was to find someone worth trusting again."

The thief took a moment to process Heath's meaning, but when he did, an embarassed grin spread on his face.

 

"You keep complimenting me like this, Heath, people will start to suspect you don't hate me."

Heath smirked.

"I think you've known for a while now that isn't the case."

"Ooh. I'm beginning to like where this conversation's headed," Legault said, leaning a chin into his hands. Heath was distracted, though, as a thought had struck him. With a sudden flash of certainty, he blurted out,

"Travel with me."

Legault blinked, thrown off guard.

"Er, ah, what?"

Heath smiled a little sheepishly. He fumbled to explain.

"I mean, uh, after tonight. If we manage to survive. And after the war. When all of this is done. Then you should travel with me."

"Oh."

Heath hesitated a moment, but then his words came spilling out in a rush.

"You told me once I didn't need a country nor a lord to serve, simply a cause. I've thought often on that notion, and I believe you were right. I'd like to seek out people in need and fight for them. To protect the weak and poor and vulnerable-- oppose corruption and abuse of power. You could join me."

"I--"

Heath continued before he could reject the idea.

"I know you want to say you're no good for fighting. But you've no excuse now, Legault. I know you're more than capable. And our goals dovetail perfectly."

"Heath--"

"We could even try to find others that have fled the Black Fang like you, offer them refuge. I know it sounds a bit mad, sort of mercenary work but not-- there's not really a name for it. But I think it could work. I--"

"Heath, stop!"

Heath halted, looking at him tensely. The thief chuckled.

"You had me at 'travel with me.'"

The wyvern rider gave him a silly, self-conscious smile.

"Oh."

Legault grinned openly at him.

"You know I could never say no to you. And honestly, it sounds like a brilliant idea. Besides, now I have really good motivation to survive and get out of here, mm?"

Heath chuckled.

"If you're going to survive, you need to rest. Come over here."

Legault raised his brows at him and answered in a velvety tone.

"That doesn't sound like rest."

Heath shot him an exasperated look.

"You said the ground was no good for sleeping, you ass. Come lean on me."

The thief smirked, but climbed to his feet with a little struggle. Moving over to Heath's side of the fire, he settled onto the ground beside him, hesitantly dropping a head against his shoulder. 

"Now rest. I'll tend the fire."

"Mmm."

Heath turned his attention to prodding at the fire with his lance. After a moment, he jumped, feeling an arm snake around his waist. He yelped,

"Legault!"

The thief grumbled and withdrew his arm.

"Killjoy."

Heath rolled his eyes. He found himself replying automatically,

"As if you're in any condition for . . ."

He trailed off, embarrassed for having even started the sentence. The delighted  chuckle vibrated against him.

"That sounds like a challenge to me."

Heath swallowed.

_"Rest,_ Legault."

"Yessir."

He felt the thief lean further against him and his body gradually relax. Heath breathed a small sigh.

As the night wore on, Heath continued to tend the fire and Legault slipped into a gentle slumber against him. Eventually Heath felt his eyes begin to droop as well. The fire before him swirled hypnotically.

Slowly, his head slumped against Legault's. The night faded away around him.

The smoke of the fire continued to billow into the sky.


	12. Chapter 12

The sunshine was practically dazzling as they marched in the late afternoon light, fresh from the battlefield and heading hastily back to camp. It had been a long, pitched battle against savage numbers. In truth, they had barely even immerged victorious. A long road still laid ahead them, as tomorrow they would pack up and make their final push to the Shrine of Seals, and from there, to Nergal's stronghold on Valor Island. The ragtag army would face its ultimate test there, trying to topple the dark druid once and for all and protecting the peace of the land. Grim and grave times awaited them if they failed.

None of that mattered to Legault today. His blood was still pumping from battle and the lands they passed through were bursting with vigor and life, the Bern fields smelling sweet and verdant. He'd been among the men that had helped turn the tide that had clinched their victory, and he knew they could do it again. Elwood's ridiculous, scrappy crew somehow always seemed to manage to beat the odds. After all, here he was, wandering through these fields, here, now, the air of the Bern lowlands crisp in his lungs. Not so long ago he'd been convinced he would die on the side of an unknown frozen mountain, lost in an oblivion of ice. Through hell and back again, they would march on through. And on the other side of all this chaos, he could see the light. He could practically taste it.

Legault heard one of the men bounding up from behind him and a hand landed upon him, clasping his shoulder and squeezing affectionately. The man fell into step beside him.

"Gods, but you're an energetic one today. Almost pitied the men going up against you."

Legault grinned at the dashing knight.

"You were rather beastly yourself. You really should consider letting Hyperion sit out battles more often. I think you might be scarier then she is."

Heath laughed, a deep, warm sound that still sent bubbles of happiness floating in Legault's chest.

"Until I'm able to get the hang of flying on my own or biting my foes, I think I'll keep her around."

"I mean . . . if you need anyone to practice the biting part on . . ."

Heath snorted.

"You'd like that, huh?"

Legault felt a little jolt of surprise. He didn't immediately tell him to shut up this time.

"Well, uh. I wouldn't exactly complain."

Heath's lovely blue eyes sought out his, and the man took on a devious little smile.

"Sure you'd be able to handle someone that beastly?"

"I-I--" Legault's belly did a little electric flip as he floundered for words. Heath's eyes shone with mirth.

"Looks like you're not the only one who can throw people off guard."

The thief swallowed, feeling his face heat slightly.

"I don't know if I should feel flattered or annoyed you're taking a page from my book."

Heath blithely kicked a rock on their path as they marched.

"Definitely flattered. By the way, I saw that trick shot with throwing that dagger. _Very_ nice shot, but don't you think that was a little risky?"

Legault took a moment to process his question, still a little caught up on Heath's newfound talents, but then he answered mildly.

"I suppose, but it paid off, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but you were down a weapon then. What if there had been more enemies waiting in the wings?"

"I'm sure I would have managed somehow."

Heath shook his head, smiling.

"Even still, we've been losing a lot of weapons lately. Probably not best to make a habit of throwing them away."

"Ehh. I picked up a few extras last time we were stocking up. We're running on Eliwood's dime here, I'm sure he can afford it."

 The knight laughed again.

"After the war, we're not going to have that luxury, I hope you realize."

Legault glanced to his companion, and his easy, relaxed bearing. Damn, it felt nice to hear him casually referring to the future like that. Somehow it really helped things sink in, that it truly wasn't the madness of just one very long, desperate night lost in the mountains-- Heath had actually meant those things he'd said.

Playfully, the thief suggested,

"Well, we could always do a bit of private fund-raising with the assistance of some generous nobles."

Heath looked thoughtful.

"Hm. I guess that's possible. You know of any you'd think would be that generous?"

Legault raised his brows. Bless his heart, he honestly didn't know what he was getting at.

"I . . . know of some that are unaware of how generous they can be?"

It took Heath a moment, but he finally caught his meaning.

"Oh, no. No thievery or other hijinks, Legault."

Legault grinned.

"I'm just saying, it's an option . . ."

"Nuh-uh. You don't need to fall back on that anymore. I'm keeping you on the straight and narrow."

The man couldn't help but snicker.

"You might find that to be a bit difficult. I'm not exactly a straight fellow."

Heath brought the handle of his lance around and poked at Legault with it.

"You're not exactly a cooperative fellow, either. No stealing. Promise me."

Legault laughed as Heath continued to poke at him.

"What are you doing? Stop that."

"Promise me."

Legault grabbed the lance handle and tugged lightly at it, grinning.

"You're gonna have to work a bit harder than that to get a promise out of me."

"I can arrange that," Heath said, tugging back on the lance. Legault held fast and dug his heels into the dirt, refusing to let him pull the weapon away. Heath grinned and pulled harder, putting more of his strength into it. Legault strained a moment against the wyvern rider's impressive strength, knowing he wouldn't last long. He waited until Heath brought the brunt of his strength against him and then released the handle, letting the man fling backwards with a yell into the grass. He snorted but immediately felt bad. Going over to the indignant knight, he reached down to help him up.

"Okay, that was really cheap of me, sorry. Here."

Heath glowered at him a moment but reached to take the offered hand. For a half-second, a smile crept onto his face, but by the time Legault noticed it was too late. Heath yanked him down onto the ground with him, the wind knocking out of the thief with an _ooof!_ As Heath chuckled, Legault twisted around and grabbed at him, and the two started to tussle in the grass.

Eliwood's crew continued to march past as they did so. Most ignored them or paused to glance over briefly, but then an angry voice floated over.

"GUYS, STOP. Seriously, can't you two go ten minutes without beating on each other?"

Heath scrambled back to his feet, looking sufficiently chastised.

"Sorry sir!"

Hector sighed the sigh of the long-suffering as he walked past.

"Just keep moving, ok? We don't have time to muck around."

As Hector moved past, Legault climbed to his feet, dumb smile plastered to his face.

"Oooo. You got us in trouble."

Heath snorted and continued marching along the path, behind a few of the Caelin knights.

"Shut up. And c'mon, get moving."

Legault caught back up to him and teased,

"Have I been corrupting the good knight? We'll probably end up with ditch duty now."

Heath frowned.

"They wouldn't do that." He sounded slightly uncertain. After a moment, he glanced over to Legault.

". . . you couldn't lift a shovel, anyhow."

_"Hey."_

Heath grinned.

The two carried on chatting during the long march, passing by gentle rolling hills dusted in tiny white flowers. Legault knew it was odd, the way they were cavorting about as if without a care in the world. It wasn't as though Legault was unaware of the trials ahead-- it was just that he couldn't seem to help his mood. The sense of jubilation and hope was infectious, and walking beside Heath, it only multiplied.

When they crested the short hill the army had been climbing, their camp finally came into view, nestled in the valley alongside a river.

"Hey. What do you plan on doing back at camp?"

Heath glanced up at him, munching on an apple he'd snagged from supplies.

"Not much. Mostly just feeding Hyperion. I've a lot of treats still to make up for leaving her out in the cold for so long. She's still pretty cranky with me."

"Aw. I'm sure she'll come around."

"Yeah, she always does, but she has to sulk a bit first."

He finished off his apple and tossed the core away.

"After that, was just going to sharpen my lance. Dulled the damn thing when I was smacking that brigand around."

"Hmm. You don't plan on using that dingy old grindstone in the weapons tent, do you?"

Heath shot him a look.

"Yeah. Why?"

Legault shuddered.

"Ew. No. Just, no. Any decent weapon should be mortified to be caught anywhere near that thing. It's more likely to pit and blunt your lovely new silver lance then to do anything else."

"Oh. Well, I don't really have many options?"

Legault shook his head.

"Don't you worry. I'll lend you one of my whetstones. I have several grades, I'm sure one of them will do the trick."

"Really? That would be excellent. Thank you."

They entered the outskirts of camp, the dust from the men ahead of them kicking up into the air.

"No problem. Should I catch up with you later or swing by and get them now?"

"You going to your tent?"

"Yep."

"Let's get them now. I wanted to rest a few minutes before hunting something for Hyperion anyway."

"Sounds good."

They made their way past the supply tents, heading for the rows of personal tents situated in the back of camp. It appeared the lords were already rounding some people up to help with preparing for tomorrow's march. The pair passed by unnoticed, though, thankfully not recruited to join the efforts just yet. They reached the small canvas tents staked out not far from the river, and Legault lifted the flap to his-- three tents from the far right end of the row-- and ducked inside.

Like the other tents for Eliwood's group, Legault's was quite sparse inside; a little table with an oil lantern and a single chair sat in one corner, his cot in another corner. A storage trunk rested near one of the canvas walls and a small polished bit of brass acting as a makeshift mirror was pinned to the canvas.  A crate beside the trunk was sprinkled with odds and ends, largely an assortment of lockpicks and keys, as well as some additional candles.

Entering the dim space, Legault fiddled with the lantern, lighting it and then tossing a glance over his shoulder at the knight stepping into the room.

"It'll probably take me a few minutes to dig them out, so make yourself comfortable."

His hand then automatically fell to unfastening the leather belt strapped with his shield, sheaths and other jangly equipment. It was the first thing he always shed whenever he returned to his tent, and he gratefully liberated himself now, looping the belt over one of the tent support poles.

"All right, but fair warning, that'll leave quite a mess in here. I've a lot of armor."

"That's no trouble. Mess away."

Legault crossed the tent as Heath started to shed his heavy armor plates.

"Oof. Feels like I've been jogging across the whole of Elibe about forty times today."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

Legault unfastened his leather armor and wriggled out of that as well, tossing it aside. He then hefted his storage trunk open and murmured to himself,

"Mmm, now let's see, where did I stick those. Should be in the middle somewhere."

Heath let his heavy armor clunk to the floor, piece by piece, as he commented in an amused tone,

"Honestly, I'm impressed you've managed to acquire so much while on this journey. I left Bern with little more than the shirt on my back, and it's been pretty much that way since then."

Legault rooted about through some stacks of clothes.

"Oh, it was essentially the same for myself. But I have picked up a few things here and there. Helps to have some of the tools of the trade, as it were."

Another bit of armor went _clunk_ on the floor.

"I suppose that makes sense. But still-- an entire trunk's worth?"

Legault pushed through some bottles of salves and other botanicals, the little glass vials clattering merrily against each other.

"It's not filled to the _brim_ or anything! You make it sound as though I'm hoarding back here. It's just a few essentials."

"Uh-huh."

Legault frowned at Heath's skeptical tone, but he was too busy reaching the middle of the trunk to shoot him a disapproving look. As he lifted some spare daggers out of the way, Heath's voice came from just over his shoulder-- he jumped slightly, startled.

"Wait, what is that? Are those toys? Essentials, huh?"

Legault huffed, pushing the little wooden shapes aside,

"Those are puzzles, thank you very much. Good for finger dexterity. Look, you might want to be careful about snooping in a man's supplies. Puzzles aren't necessarily the only kinds of toys I keep around, mm?"

Heath chuckled, not seeming particularly shaken by what Legault was implying. Damn, it was getting harder to rattle him these days. Legault wasn't sure if he loved that or hated that.

"Fair enough. But if you're going to be much longer, I think I might have to take a nap."

"All right, just give me a moment, I'm sure--"

Legault paused at the heavy _wumph_ and creaking of his cot, then turned around. He blinked. Heath had sprawled across the bed, tipping this head backwards over the foot of the bed so he was gazing at him upside-down like a massive dork. He had propped his head on one hand, his other hand settled on his chest, with one leg propped up and the other crossed over it casually.

"Um."

"Take your time, I'm not in any rush. Just gonna nap here for an hour," the man teased, playful smile on his stupid face.

Goddamnit _why._ Legault bit his lower lip. This wasn't fair, he wasn't allowed to be both sexy _and_ adorable.

He turned around and started digging more urgently through the trunk of supplies. He had to freaking find this stupid thing.

"That's-- fine with me, uh, I'll wake you when there's good news."

Legault reached the bottom of the trunk and fought the urge to curse outloud. Where the hell had they gone to?! He knew he had them somewhere. Gods, maybe Heath was right. He did kind of have a lot of shit in here. Feeling uncomfortably warm, he tugged his bandana off and flicked it aside, swishing the hair back that had dropped into his face while he was stooped over the trunk. As he rattled around and reshifted the items inside, he heard Heath's voice floating thoughtfully from behind him.

"Y'know, for an intimidating ex-assassin, you sure have some luscious long hair."

Legault very narrowly avoided banging his head on the lid of the storage trunk as he jerked upright. He turned, looking at the insane wyvern knight draped across his bed.

"Heath, are-- are you _drunk?"_

"Hm? No. Why?"

"It's just I've never seen you like this before. You're so, uh. You're so much more relaxed and sillier then the stern and stodgy knight I'm used to."

"Hmm. Just in a good mood, I suppose. Shall I stop?"

"Heavens no. You're beautiful. I mean, uh. It's beautiful. I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna keep looking."

Legault dropped to his knees and started yanking things from the trunk and tossing them aside haphazardly.

"You need any help in there, thief?"

"Err no I-- _yes!"_

His hand closed around the damned whetstones, stacked neatly against one bottom corner of the trunk. Oh, sweet Elimine, finally. He pulled out the small stack.

"All right, you may have been right about my having too much stuff. But here, these are the finest quality whetstones you can find this side of Elibe. I think you'll probably want this one."

He tossed the rectangular, grayish stone over and Heath caught it. The knight inspected it.

"Hm. This does look really nice."

After a moment, he glanced up at him, still from his ridiculous upside-down angle.

"Thanks," he said warmly,

"I know these can't have been cheap and I'll be grinding it down a fair bit."

"Of course. Your lance deserves better then that nasty communal grindstone."

The knight laughed.

"I love how genuinely repulsed you seem to find it."

"Well . . . I may not have learned the family trade, but goodness, I at least want to take proper care of my weapons."

Heath grinned at him, waggling a foot lazily.

"Like flinging them off into the abyss in some pegasus rider's head?"

Legault put his hands on his hips and protested with a smirk,

"Hey, sometimes taking care of things means a soft touch, but sometimes it means going a little rough."

He glanced over his shoulder,

"Although, that reminds me. Wanna see my replacement dagger?"

"Yes, please."

Legault returned to the storage trunk and tidied up a little, returning the items he'd flung about back into the trunk and then taking up the sheathed weapon. When he turned to Heath, he smiled down at him.

"As fetching as you are laying like that, I don't think I want to hand you anything sharp in that position."

The wyvern rider groaned.

"Fine."

Heath rolled off the cot and jumped up, but then waivered briefly on his feet.

"Ooh. I feel dizzy."

Legault held a hand out and steadied the knight.

"That's because you let all the blood dump into your brain and then back out, you silly ass."

"It's fine, I'm fine."

"Just don't impale yourself."

Legault handed him the soft leather case. Heath took the silver handle, appreciating its polish, and then drew the weapon from its sheath. It was long and curved with a gentle swoop, serrated slightly at its tip. The knight admired it a moment.

"Very nice. Although much larger than I expected."

Legault couldn't stop the automatic smirk that reached his face, and Heath added on immediately,

"Legault, stop."

The thief's brows arced.

"I didn't even-- you can't stop me from having dirty _thoughts,_ Heath. They're just going to happen, mm?"

Heath tried to pin him with an admonishing look, but the slight smile battling for control took the weight away from it. His eyes dropped down to the dagger he was holding for a moment, and then some sort of notion seemed to cross Heath's face. His gaze drew back up to Legault, his mouth curved into an alarmingly wicked smile.

"What?"

Heath didn't say anything, just slowly brought the dagger up in his hand, tilting it sideways and gently bringing it higher and higher. Legault stared in confusion.

"What are you . . ."

Heath very slowly dipped his head down. His eyes didn't leave Legault. He simply brought the dagger closer and closer to his own face. Slowly, slowly . . . he lifted the dagger within a few inches of his lips. The thief swallowed, his heart jumping into his throat.

"H-heath, you. . ."

 Whatever protest he was trying to force out died as Heath poked a tongue out and began to slowly drag it along the side of the dagger. Legault felt the heat wash over his face almost instantly, blushing a deep crimson. The knight kept his gaze locked with Legault's as he lazily, gradually drew his tongue along the entire length of the blade, lingering with incredible care, as if relishing every single centimeter. Legault was helplessly locked in his gaze, positively quivering as he stood there, barely able to stand it. It felt like years to him when Heath finally reached the tip of the dagger, curling the tip of his tongue around it carefully before at long last lifting the blade away.

Legault was a trembling mess, hardly able to hear over the sound of his own rushing blood, still trapped in Heath's merciless gaze. The knight swallowed, then looked away briefly to resheath the dagger, his face looking more then a little heated himself. His voice came sounding a little quiet and roughed.

"I, ah . . . didn't know it would affect you quite so . . . deeply."

"You knew damn well how it would affect me," Legault whispered shakily. Heath's eyes drew back up to his. The knight licked his lips, staring. He seemed hesitant. Legault was about ready to break. He spoke in a low, dangerous tone.

"Heath, if you're going to do something . . . you'd better do it damn quick. I--"

He had to pause a second to swallow, and then continued,

"I swore up and down to myself I wouldn't make the first move, but you're pushing my self-control to the absolute limits here."

". . . Legault," Heath said, voice hitching slightly.

"Yes?"

Heath looked at him. His eyes were stormy.

". . . make the first move."

Metal armor skidded along the ground as Legault shot out, plowing into Heath and shoving him backwards across the tent until he'd slammed him against the canvas wall, the entire tent shuddering on its supports. The thief devoured Heath's mouth, plunging his tongue feverishly into him, feeling the rush of pleasure as Heath responded. His hands clawed into Heath's shirt, and he nipped and sucked, reveling in the ridiculously delicious man. It was like eating fire. He couldn't pull himself away from the depths of him, devoted to exploring every single inch of his mouth. He whimpered as he felt Heath's rough hands slide under his shirt and up his back. Oh, gods. How many nights had he fucking fantasized about this? He let his hands roam to Heath's hips as he fiercely suckled the man's lower lip. It was only out of a desperate need for air that he paused for a few seconds, panting heavy, Heath's hot breaths mingling with his own.

"I've wanted to do this the day I set eyes on you," he whispered coarsely, dropping his mouth to Heath's neck, nipping, kissing, trailing downwards. A deep growl grew in Heath's throat. Before he knew what was happening, a pair of strong arms had seized him, flipping him about and slamming him into the tent wall. The canvas bowed, threatening to give way. Heath thrust his tongue into Legault's mouth, tasting deep.

Heath didn't understand how this had happened. One moment, he'd simply been joking around and teasing Legault, savoring his flustered reaction. It had just been an impulse. The next moment, he'd gone a little further then he'd intended, and when he'd seen how much it had gotten to Legault . . . something deep in him kindled. It swept through his body like wildfire and consumed him completely.

And _now_ , gods-- he was like a beast driven mad, pressing into Legault, gripping his shoulders tight, tasting him like he was the only thing he ever wanted on his tongue ever again, this impossible, dizzying, addictive concoction. Heath was clawing under his shirt and he felt Legault squirming under his grip, loosening and wriggling out of his cape, unbuttoning clothing, tossing things aside. The raw urgency Heath felt completely captured his focus; he had to have more, more, more skin, more of that taste. He sucked in a breath as Legault freed himself from his shirt entirely, then fell upon his open skin greedily, dragging a tongue across his chest and down his belly. A number of rough words fell from Legault breathlessly, and Heath could feel his trembling hands roving under his own shirt. Eagerly, the knight helped him remove the offending fabric that was separating them, barely willing to pull away from him the few seconds it took to remove it-- and then pressed into him again, touching, tasting. Legault's hands slid down and cupped his bottom reverently; then he squeezed and pushed their hips together. Heath felt his hardness press against the bulge of Legault's own pants.

Some sort of whimper escaped his throat. He really needed Legault to do that again, but oh gods, what was happening here?

"I-I--"

Legault ground into him again, and Heath's attempted speech ended in a groan.

"Hmm?" Legault murmured, delighted smile on his face. Heath tried again.

"I-I-- I've never actually-- uh. I've never been with a man like this before."

Legault's eyes lit in understanding. His voice came in a smooth, reassuring tone.

"That's fine. We can take it as fast or slow as you like. Entirely your choice."

A chuckle bubbled up from the thief.

"I have to admit though, with your enthusiasm, you certainly had me fooled."

Heath gave a slight, self-conscious smile, but Legault pressed a kiss against his lips, dipping his tongue in and swirling it around his own. As he pulled out of the kiss, he murmured,

"Don't worry. I'll make sure that . . ."

He lowered his head, his lips meandering down Heath's neck, until he reached his collarbone. He lapped at the dip in his collar.

"We'll go . . ."

His fingers just barely grazed Heath's skin, trailing along his sides and down his belly.

"Nice . . ."

His hands settled on Heath's hips and he pressed closer against him, bringing his lips up close to the man's ear. He whispered to him, feather-soft:

"And . . . slow."

He then delicately licked along the shell of Heath's ear. The knight couldn't help the shiver that ran down the length of his spine. Legault nuzzled his ear a moment. Then he nipped at his earlobe.

Heath grunted, sliding his hands down Legault's back and slipping them immediately under the waistband of his pants. The little gasp the thief made was ridiculously rewarding.

"I was never one for going slow," he growled.

_"O-oh."_

He slid his hands further down, cupping the man's taut, round butt in both hands. He stroked the smoothness firmly with both hands, thrilling in the feel of Legault's legs wobbling against him. Oh, he was already so shaken. Heath pushed his hands down even further, stroking hard, fingers dipping into the cleft of his cheeks. He was rewarded with a soft whimper, and it was enough to drive Heath further. The knight brought his hands back up to Legault's waist and hooked his thumbs about the waistband. After a second of hesitation-- or anticipation-- he dragged the ragged pants down, revealing Legault's flushed erection. Heath gazed a moment, simply taking in the sight, feeling the man's thighs trembling under his fingertips.

Experimentally, he let his fingers creep closer to Legault's groin, over the coarse hair and bright, hot skin. He paused. Then he quickly wrapped a hand around the man's shaft. Legault made a strangled noise at the back of his throat, struggling to suppress it. Heath squeezed a little, admiring the intense heat in his palm. He brought his eyes up to Legault's. The man was biting down hard on his lip, fighting to keep quiet. Heath stroked down the length of the shaft with his thumb, savoring Legault's reaction. He liked seeing him like this. He _really_ liked it.

Heath licked his lips, glancing down. He found himself wondering how Legault would react, if he brought that intense heat of his into his mouth. How would it taste?

He lifted his eyes up to Legault's a moment and gave him a devious little smile.

Then he dropped down, squeezing at the base of the man's cock with a hand and darting a tongue out, flicking it over the head. Legault's entire body jerked and he gasped,

_"Fuck,_ Heath, oh, _fuck_ \--"

Heath felt the pleasure strike him deep at Legault's response. It was goddamn beautiful, his voice choked up like that. Heath needed more of it. He wrapped his lips around the florid head, sucking at it for a moment, smelling the tang of sweat and musk. Then he pushed forward, bringing it further inside his mouth.

Legault's hands closed around Heath's shoulders and squeezed hard as Heath relished the heat inside his mouth. He studied the texture with his tongue before languidly sucking, starting off slow and gentle. Then he started to slide his lips up and down the shaft, slicking it liberally with saliva. He explored Legault's hardness thoroughly, from tip to base, listening to the small noises the man was struggling to stifle. He was still too quiet. Heath pressed his tongue up roughly and started to suck harder. He felt Legault's nails digging into him, and a moan finally escaped from the thief.

Heath slid the cock from his mouth a moment, licking at his lips, fascinated by the heavy, musky taste left behind. He spoke in a roughed voice.

"I love the sounds you make."

He drew his tongue across Legault.

"I want to hear more."

The thief cursed, his hands still digging into Heath's shoulders.

"H-hold on, Heath. I can't last at this rate."

Heath stood and nudged the man forward, pushing him against the rough canvas of the tent and sliding down again to his knees, stroking his hands down the man's legs and growling.

"I don't want you to."

He devoured Legault's cock, thrusting it deep into his mouth, slamming the man's buttocks against the tent wall. Legault gasped and quickly tamped down on another sound, almost like he was holding back a scream in his throat. Desire to hear that noise again flared deep in Heath, and he pumped at him again and again, picking up speed. The excitement coursed through him as he felt Legault squirming, writhing, desperately trying to hold back. Heath rolled his tongue, pushing, urging him to let go.

Legault's nails pressed into him like a vice, but Heath did not relent, sucking at him even harder.

The thief stifled a shaky whimper. Heath started moving at a frenzied pace. Legault's breaths came shallow and rapid. He knew he was building up fast.

Then Heath plunged forward, taking Legault's entire length deep inside in his mouth, swallowing hard.

Heath positively felt in his core the rough, raw scream that tore from Legault's throat. It was a perfect, primal sound, and it was so delightfully genuine. As the noise rippled through him, he felt the rush of heat fill his mouth, flooding his senses with a strong, pungent flavor. Heath pulled back, coughing a little, briefly overwhelmed by it-- it frothed and dripped from his mouth as he tried to adjust. As it permeated his taste, he swallowed. The flavor was so much stronger than he expected, but he felt he might quickly get the taste for it. Hands still gripping Legault's thighs, he looked up. The man's head thrown back against the tent wall, he was panting, red, and sweating, hair strewn messily. He looked beautiful.

Heath licked the remainder of the man's ejaculate from his lips and smiled. Still breathing heavily, he teased,

"I never would have pegged you for being a loud one."

Legault rolled a silly, blissed gaze down at him. He sounded mildly embarrassed.

"Gods-- you ass, the whole camp probably heard that."

Heath felt the warm bloom of pride in his chest, grinning.

"Good."

Legault dropped his hands onto Heath's shoulders.

"Get up. I want my revenge."

Heath chuckled and stood, watching as Legault used his shoulders to unsteadily pull himself from the tent wall. Heath confessed,

"To be entirely honest, I've never been particularly loud myself."

Legault brushed the strands of damp hair from his face.

"That's all right."

He brought a hand down, just barely grazing Heath's chest. He lowered his head and started again to nibble on Heath's collar. He murmured against him;

"There are other ways to get revenge."

Heath felt a surge of eagerness as Legault's hands dropped to his hips, stroking softly with his thumbs. The thief let just the tips of his fingers gently glide up and down Heath's legs. Heath grunted, straining in his pants. Gods, he was so damn ready for this already. Mercifully, Legault brought his hands back up to his waist and quickly slipped his pants down. As they pooled at Heath's feet,  Legault smiled, eyes sweeping down. Heath's cock stood tall and ready.

"This way," Legault murmured, guiding him gently by the hips. Heath happily obliged the request, letting Legault bring him over to his cot and press him down flat on the bed, the thief leaning over him on his hands and knees. The man brought hands down and spread Heath's legs wide. He glided hot fingertips along his naked thighs. Heath shivered. Legault smiled playfully and slid further down, bringing his face down to Heath's crotch. He felt a tongue glide slowly up along his inner thigh, fingers toying at his bottom. Heath quivered as the tongue dragged closer and closer to his cock, but then lifted off just before reaching it. Legault repeated the action, teasing at him with his tongue, stroking his legs with his fingers. Then he darted his tongue along his other thigh, lovingly climbing the smooth skin inch by inch. Heath tensed as the man's tongue dragged closer and closer again, dipping into the hot crook between Heath's leg and groin before lifting it out again. Heath squirmed, but Legault pressed his legs down and continued to lap roughly all around.  

"L-legault," Heath stammered out, but suddenly jerked as one of Legault's hands cupped his scrotum.

"Mmmm?"

The thief nibbled at Heath's thighs and gently stroked his scrotum with one hand. Heath made a shaky, unintelligible noise. Legault bit down a little harder on his thigh and Heath balled his hands at the blanket on the cot, trembling wildly. _Fuck._ His entire body felt so ridiculously hot. What was Legault waiting for? The man continued to nip at his thighs, sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes quick and sharp, obviously intent on furthering the delightful torment. Just when Heath was about to exclaim in frustration, he felt the tip of Legault's tongue flick against the head of his cock and he jerked automatically, bucking his hips. He could hear Legault chuckle warmly at his response.

"You ready, Heath?"

A string of indelicate curses frothed forth from Heath and then he answered,

"You fucking know I am, I-- _aahh!"_

Legault's tongue had darted out again, flicking briefly against his dick. Legault drawled,

"You sure?"

Heath tried bucking his hips again but Legault held him down. He whimpered. Legault lapped roughly at the very base of his cock. Heath felt like he was going to explode.

"Fffff . . . p-please," Heath stammered out, heart pounding at a ridiculous rate.

Legault made a happy little sound, sucking hard on the skin just beside his cock. Heath's legs were trembling uncontrollably by now, and he started to think he might just fucking come.

_"Please,"_ he begged louder, not caring anymore how ridiculous it sounded.

All at once, there was a wetness and an incredible heat that enveloped him, Legault taking him fully in his mouth, and Heath practically snapped right there. The thief's tongue darted along his achingly sensitive shaft, and then he started to suck, pumping rapidly at him. Heath felt the heat spreading over him in successive waves, every stroke setting his nerves alight. Legault's tongue was devastatingly efficient, darting over him, flicking, pressing, alternating hard and soft, slow and quick-- masterfully striking every little spot. Heath struggled valiantly to hold out against him, but under his assault he was virtually helpless, and he could already feel himself starting to teeter on the edge.

He sucked in wild breaths as Legault slowed a little before he could come. He deftly kept him poised on the brink, pulling back gradually and then lapping hard suddenly, making Heath arch his back at the unexpected shifts in pace. He carried on like that, making Heath's nerves soar and then allowing him to glide along the feeling briefly before driving into him once more. Heath was soaked in sweat, mind completely eclipsed by what Legault was doing to him. He felt himself climbing yet again to orgasm, the heat building in him to a feverish pitch.

This time, Legault didn't slow. Instead, he rhythmically fluttered his tongue rapidly on the head of Heath's cock. Heath felt his entire body curling uncontrollably, heart pounding wildly, white-hot pleasure washing over him. He lost himself completely, swept away in the sensation, pushed over the brink.

Legault lapped up his essence greedily as he climaxed, seeming to positively adore it. Heath hovered for a number of moments in that white-hot intensity before eventually coming back down, gulping air and sinking back into the cot. The pleasure still rippled through him as he struggled to catch his breath. Legault dropped down beside him, looking exhausted as well, and they laid there for several minutes, panting. As Heath's pounding heart gradually started to slow, he allowed his body to relax completely, sinking further into the cot. A warm, pleasant glow gripped him gently, his mind sliding into a delicious, light state, not focused on anything in particular.

Heath realized he must have drifted off further than he'd thought, because it was only when Legault said something in a contented drawl that he was brought back to a more conscious state again.

"That was rather nice."

Heath murbled a nonsensical reply and pressed his forehead against Legault's own forehead. The thief draped an arm over Heath, smiling affectionately.

"I assume it met with your approval as well."

"Mmm-hmm," Heath hummed against him. After a few moments, Legault added peacefully,

"Then we should probably do it lot more. And some other things I'd like to show you, if you're game."

"Ok," Heath replied in a simple, happy tone. Legault chuckled and kissed his forehead, then dropped his head onto Heath's chest.

"Maybe not right this second, though."

Heath gave a gentle sigh, deciding the man was right. He had been planning on catching a nap, after all.

"We'll have plenty of time soon enough," the knight replied languidly. The soft breath from Legault tickled his skin as he drifted off to sleep.


	13. Epilogue

Dawn was just beginning to break, low-floating clouds painted shades of pink and peach. Castle Pherae, perched atop a hill overlooking the town below, was only just starting to stir to life, a few early-risers going about their day. The grounds outside the castle still showed signs of the recent celebrations, confetti and debris sprinkled about, booths and seating areas still not cleared away entirely. Some of the castle staff were already getting to work with cleaning up the remaining mess or attending to other tasks.

A man with long, flowing lavender hair and a ragged cape was passing through the castle gardens, the morning dew of the rosebushes brushing against his pants as he moved past. He strode as if he had a destination intently in mind, but as he reached the center of the garden, he paused and surveyed the castle gardens contemplatively. His eye followed a few stray flower petals drifting down lazily into the koi pond, and the big, lumbering fish that nibbled curiously at them. He took a moment just to listen to the world around him. His heather eyes focused on nothing in particular as he drifted into reverie.

"UNCLE LEGAAAAULT!"

The man startled at the sudden shriek echoing across the garden, and turned to see the green-haired young woman in a purple cape bounding through the flowerbeds like her life depended upon it. She crashed full tilt into the man, throwing her arms about him in a hug and nearly knocking him backwards into the koi pond.

"Goodness gracious, Nino! We're both going to end up going for a swim if you aren't careful."

"DON'T GO!" she replied, squeezing him with her little arms. He smiled and patted her back.

"Nino, we talked about all of this yesterday. I wouldn't leave and never return again. We'll come back to visit, I promise."

She pulled out of her death-grip hug and looked up at him, sniffling.

"I-I know. But . . . it's going to be so lonely without you."

Legault put a hand on her shoulder and kindly guided her over to one of the garden benches near the pond. As he sat down beside her, he said,

"You won't be lonely. You're going to have all sorts of people around keeping you company. What about Jaffar? And Jan? And all the new friends you've made? Eliwood tells me that Erk has been helping you learn to read magic tomes. That sounds wonderful."

The young woman swung her feet restlessly and gazed down at the ground.

"It is. They've all been so nice to me. I'm . . . I'm so happy to have so many friends."

She pouted and looked up at him.

"But I still don't want you to go. There's not many people left from the Black Fang anymore. I still want my family around. A-after what happened with Mother and Father . . . a-and Linus, and Lloyd . . ."

Legault's expression darkened. He never knew what to say to this poor, sweet child when her bright eyes were clouded by pain that no one her age should have to endure. Any of his words seemed entirely meaningless in the face of that.

He slowly drew in a breath and spoke to her softly.

"I know."

After a moment, he added,

"But that's part of what we're doing. There could still be some Black Fang scattered out there. We can help them. It isn't . . ."

He sighed.

"Nothing we do can bring the others back. But maybe we can at least find the pieces that remain."

"Then bring me with you," Nino said in a rush,

"I can be useful, I promise! I can help you find them!"

"Nino," he answered kindly,

"You know I can't take you. It's going to be way too dangerous. That sort of life isn't for someone your age."

Nino seemed to bite back tears.

"You think I can't be useful?"

Legault shook his head,

"That isn't what I mean. You're a very talented young lady, I'm certain. But you deserve a life of stability. A chance to laugh, and play, and grow. Pherae will be perfect for you."

The young mage sighed, still frustrated, but she seemed to understand. After staring at the koi for a little while, she spoke up,

"All right, but you'd better write letters and stuff! And don't forget to visit! And also, be careful! You have to not die when you're out helping people, okay?"

Legault chuckled, leaning casually back against the bench.

"Don't worry. I have a very strong, very brave wyvern knight to watch my back."

She seemed to perk up at the mention.

"You mean Heath? He seems really nice! Whenever I talk to him, he doesn't say much, though."

"Mmm, well. He can be a quiet fellow. He just takes some time to open up to new people."

"He let me pet his wyvern, though!" Nino said, looking very enthusiastic. Legault smiled.

"That's a good place to start."

Nino went back to kicking her feet idly.

"You must be really good friends, 'cos I always see you both together. And you're going away together."

"Mmhmm. We are."

Legault gazed contemplatively out at the koi pond, his thoughts shifting over the recent, unexpected course his life had taken. After a while, he murmured,

"I'm not sure exactly what I did to deserve him, but I'm determined to try and keep doing it."

Nino blinked at him a moment, and then smiled goofily.

"You _really_ like him, huh?"

Legault seemed to snap out of his daydreaming and straightened up a little in his seat.

"Er, well . . ."

"Does that mean I'm gonna get a new uncle?! Are you gonna get married?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Nino."

The girl gave him a scrutinizing look.

"Is that a yes or a maybe?"

Legault's gaze shifted nervously across the garden, and his eye fell upon a familiar figure moving across the castle grounds. He cleared his throat.

"Ah, speak of the devil. Maybe don't mention this last part of the conversation to Heath, Ni--"

"UNCLE HEATH!" Nino shouted gleefully, springing up from her seat and bounding over to the approaching knight. Legault sighed and followed after her, muttering,

"Ahh, hell."

The mage smacked into Heath's legs and hugged him, laughing. Heath gazed down at her, looking mildly puzzled.

"Um . . . hello, Nino."

His eyes lifted up to Legault as he approached and he added,

"I was wondering where you'd gotten to. We can delay if you need some extra time for farewells."

Upon reaching them, Legault leaned in a little and kissed Heath on the cheek near his ear, much to Nino's glee. He answered cheerfully,

"'Morning! That's okay. It's probably for the best not to make things too drawn out."

The knight glanced away, mumbling in an embarrassed tone,

"Legault. Not in front of the kid."

Legault chuckled.

"She's seen much worse."

Nino giggled and Heath shifted uncomfortably a moment before saying,

"Well, uh . . . I have Hyperion all packed up and ready to go, if you are."

Legault nodded.

"Ok, Nino. We're going to be on our way now."

"Wait!" she protested, looking dramatically between them,

"I want to see you take off! And I want to say goodbye to Hyperion too!"

The thief smiled down at her.

"All right, all right. Come along then."

The mossy-green wyvern was saddled up and waiting at the edge of the hill overlooking the town, knawing on a stick and looking bored. Nino jumped a little as they came upon her and she excitedly asked Heath permission to pet the beast; he nodded and she bounded over. She spent a little while cooing at the reptile and patting its snout, and Legault knew she mostly just wanted to delay the inevitable. Still, he felt she certainly deserved a few minutes of that peace.

When he felt they'd waited long enough, he gently coaxed the girl over, telling her it was time they get going. She flung herself at Legault again and hugged him fiercely, and then did the same for Heath.

Pulling out of the hug, she told him seriously,

"You be careful too! Help lots of people, but don't forget to take care of each other, too."

Heath smiled at her. He replied sincerely:

"I give you my word."

As Heath climbed into Hyperion's saddle, Legault commented,

"Ooh. You can count on that, Nino. I can't think of anything more sure in this world than Heath's word."

Nino started waving as Legault hopped up in the saddle behind Heath.

"Byyye!"

Legault returned the wave and warned her to step back a few paces so Hyperion wouldn't whack her with a tail. He felt hands take his own, and Heath wrapped Legault's arms around him.

"It's windy up there today, so hold on tight to me," he explained, settling Legault's hands on his waist. The knight looked at him over his shoulder, shooting him a dashing half-smile.

"I'd be pretty upset if I lost you up there."

Legault grinned, pulling himself close against Heath.

"Don't worry," he said to him,

"I'll be sure never to let go."

As the sun rose over Elibe, the wyvern took off into the sky.


End file.
